


Blue Teardrops Fall: A Purgatory Love Story

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A shimmering bubble of fluff, Anal Sex, Attempted Resurrection, Behind Blue Eyes, Bottom Dean, Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Consensual underage oral sex in a dream, Decapitation, Domination, Far Away, Hitchhiking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied lynching, Jealous Castiel, Kill your darling, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Obsessive Benny, Oral Sex, Pining, Possessive Benny, Purgatory, Season 8, hand holding, mental manipulation, more violence, semi-public non-con against a brick wall, slur, so close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9639086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: It was Benny who taught Dean the first rule of Purgatory: you can’t trust nobody.When the vampire is mortally wounded, Dean will do anything to help him heal.Returning topside only complicates the dark bond between the hunter and his prey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lotrspnfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/gifts).



> This started as a non-con one shot. It's complete at about 35K words). Will continue updating weekly, as beautiful beta, lotrspnfangirl, whips it into shape for you. And oh my various gods, her art!!  
>  
> 
> (Title: from Marvin Gaye’s song, Sexual Healing)  
> The only thing as rewarding as writing is hearing what you think. Thanks, in advance, for comments and kudos!

[ ](https://imgur.com/JFTHhPD)

Green eyes scan the mob of crooked trees before Dean spares a glance over his shoulder. “How you holding up over there?”

Coast clear, at least for the moment, his attention shifts to the blood-drenched gash in Benny's shirt. The burly man is doubled over, leaning against a gnarled trunk with a stiff arm around his waist. It doesn’t hide the expanding dark stain in the fabric. He forces a pained grin. “Not good, cher.”

Dean leaps over decapitated corpses to get to Benny’s side. His normally bright blue eyes are glassy and wide. Ragged breaths hang on the crisp air, then dissipate. He winces and hangs his head.

Dean grips his makeshift Purgatory blade and scans the horizon again. He keeps Benny at his back, shields him with his body. "Come on. We gotta get you out of here."

His muscles coil tight as a spring, ready to surge at a the slightest rustle in the leaves. Every time a shadow moves in a peculiar way or a twig snaps too loudly underfoot, Dean shoots a protective arm in front of the wounded soldier. When Benny struggles to take a step, Dean tucks himself under his arm and half-drags the weighty sonovabitch. It's hard to find decent cover in this wasteland, but they fucking well have to.

And maybe there is a God, because it’s less than an hour later when Dean pulls Benny’s increasingly limp -- and way too fucking heavy for this shit -- body into the mouth of a cave.

He eases the injured man lower onto his back, slips off his own jacket and bunches it. Clasping Benny’s fist, he helps him sit up for a moment so he can slide the improvised pillow beneath his head.

Then Dean gets to work, pacing, rubbing his face with his hand. “I can go down to the stream.”

Water is like food, scarce and unnecessary in Purgatory. Just now though, his mouth is parched. He can only imagine how much worse it must be for Benny who shakes his head weakly.

Benny’s breath is shallow, skin sallow; forehead damp and cool under Dean’s palm. A fever would be better. Fever means the body is fighting. The way Benny looks, First Aid and the fucking American Red Cross would be a long shot.

The last sliver of light is sinking away , but there's enough to see his comrade waning. “Fuck, man. Not lookin' good, Benny.”

“Up yours.” Benny's laughter turns to a wet, rattling cough. Then, he hocks a thick glob of bloody mucus onto the ground.

The sight of it jogs Dean's clarity. How could he have even forgotten this? Benny doesn’t need water. Dean has ten pints of what Benny needs on tap. The hunter’s pulse kicks up at the unpleasant thought of jumping on the menu.

"Goddammit," he breathes out in the silence.

Ever since Cas vanished, having someone at his back is more than welcome. It had taken a huge leap of faith to join forces with a complete unknown -- not to mention a vampire -- but Benny has proven his mettle time and again. He’s taken out vamps, leviathan, and all kinds of nasty bastards. In fact, Benny only has this wound because he stepped between Dean and a low blow. Benny might be a slimy vamp, but he's also Dean’s ticket out of Purgatory, as sure as it is the other way around.

Dean takes another breath and starts to roll up his sleeve.

“Dean.”

“Shut up." The dirty edge of his blade slices a jagged slit across his forearm. Gangrene would be one hell of an ironic death out here. "Take what you need. You're no use to me dead."

“What I need?” Benny’s voice is a faint rasp, fading fast. His eyes fixate on Dean’s arm and blacken. “Cher, what I need…”

“Just fucking take it.” Dean presses the wound to his lips.

“This ain't a…” Benny gasps in a quick sip of air. “…flesh wound, Dean. Band-aid ain't gonna cut it.”

“Well, then, what the fuck?” Dean throws up his hands, blood drips to the dirt. “What can I do? There’s got to be something.”

“Need more’n blood.”

Dean rises to his feet, blade ready. “What?”

“You're willing?” Benny’s face pinches tight in pain and deliberation.

“Anything. Just tell me. I'll fucking find it.”

“Anything?”

“God damn it, Benny.” Sick of repeating himself, needing to do something useful, Dean takes a step toward the mouth of the cave.

Benny’s hand strikes cobra-quick. He grabs Dean's ankle and yanks the man to his knees. The blade flies from Dean’s hands and lands in the dirt with an impotent thud. With an explosion of energy Dean wouldn't have guessed he still had in him, Benny springs onto his chest. “Remember, you said anything.”

The collar of Dean’s shirt tears as cruel fingers pull it back like orange peel. Fangs sear into his jugular vein. Benny pins Dean’s arms to his sides and hovers over him, slurping noisily. The coppery scent of his own blood is thick on the air as Dean wills himself not to fight.

The error of his previous submission is clear. Any self-respecting tiger would rather chase a measly squirrel than have a sirloin steak presented on a platter. Dean is a hunter; he understands this. That doesn’t make it any easier to lie still and play supper. He fixes his eyes on the blade and lets Benny drink.

For a minute or so -- until a strange twinge tugs at his chest.

“Ben. Benny. Hey! Leave some for later.” Dean chuckles, trying to calm himself.

Benny grips his shoulders and shakes him, knocking his back against the cold floor of the cave. Then, he smiles, flashing blood-tinged fangs. “You are fucking beautiful, Dean. You know that?”

“Ben—” Dean’s throat closes even before Benny takes it in his hand.

The pressure is not meant to suffocate, but to make his victim yield. Dean is a soldier; he understands this. He brings his fist up hard against Benny’s face. The vampire laughs, catches his arm in mid-air and sinks his fangs into the soft underside of Dean’s wrist, eliciting a rough yell, as much at the betrayal as the pain.

Heavier and preternaturally stronger, Benny straddles Dean’s legs and growls in his face.

“All right, buddy, that’s--”

“Shut. Up.”

A thick, filthy hand clasps over Dean’s mouth, presses his head into the dirt while Benny's other paw digs into his sternum. A malicious grin dominates his changed face. It’s not only the nasty row of fangs; he hardly looks like the same person. His beard is more like bristled fur, blue eyes nearly demon black.

Dean struggles, screams muffled, hands dig into Benny’s chin as the monster loosens his belt. He tries to take a chunk out of Benny's palm. His reward is a swift smack and a chuckle. “Feisty."

Benny flips his quarry onto its belly. Dean is not a small man, but this devil handles him like a Raggedy Ann doll.

”Fuck you," he shouts and tries to crawl away.

“Oh, I'm gonna fuck you, all right." Benny tugs Dean’s pants around his thighs and sends him flat onto his face again. “I'm gonna fuck you real good, darlin’.”

“Goddamit, Benny. What the fuck?”

“What the fuck?” Benny copies him, a sadistic laugh soiling his husky voice.

Benny parts his ass and spits into the center. Fangs spear Dean’s shoulder as Benny pushes into him with one bitterly slow press of his heavy hips.

“Fah- ” He can’t even complete the curse. Mouth hanging open, Dean’s voice catches in his throat. Then, it erupts in a scream that mocks him in a fading echo.

Benny’s roar drowns it out, bouncing off the cave walls and the inside of Dean’s skull.

Agony, blood, and atrocity are familiar. This is a new pain: the ripping of skin while iron hands bolt him at the neck and the small of his back. Harsh heat of labored breathing in his ear. Bile filling his mouth bitter and thick.

Meaty thighs slap against the backs of his legs. The vampire’s balls strike against Dean's as a solid arm bars tight around chest and arms to pull him to his knees despite his useless wrestling. Benny lifts one of Dean's arm over his head and grips his jaw.

“Stop fucking fighting. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Dean’s body shudders with involuntary tremors. A warm wetness only slightly eases the savage scrape and burn in his ass. The stench of his own shit, blood, and sweat is like a Golgothan: an oozing beast that rises up from the bodily fluids of Ancient Rome's executed murderers. Dean Winchester is a lump of flesh being drilled into the ground by someone he'd trusted.

His own fault. It was Benny who taught him the first rule of Purgatory: “You can’t trust nobody.”

Benny buries his face between Dean's shoulder blades, grunting low, guttural noises like a wild animal ripping its dinner to shreds.

So, this is how Dean dies. Sucked him dry, split in half. Dean’s last battle ends with a vampire riding him like he was a twenty-dollar whore.

Justice, after a lifetime of bringing down these evil sons of bitches?

Fuck fair. Somehow, Dean manages to push up onto his elbows. As the triumph of that small victory gives him renewed hope, he is struck in the back of the head and knocked back onto his face. Spittle slips from the side of his mouth, blends with the dirt and slides gritty between his teeth. His fingers seek out anything to grasp onto.

At least Sammy will never know this. God, Sam. I told you there is no fucking God, Sam. No God. Only Benny, tearing up his ass, driving at the base of Dean’s spine, sending thunder through him with every vicious thrust.

Light-headed and reeling on the edge of consciousness, Dean begins to let go. Purgatory lies between Heaven and Hell and he teeters between the two until he gives up the fight, gives up hope, and relinquishes control. In that moment, everything shifts.

When Benny's teeth pierce him this time, Dean sees stars. Not tiny points of light in the night sky, but fucking supernovas, near enough to scorch every exposed nerve on his brightly thrumming body.

"Oh, God." He flushes with wave after wave of pleasure so intense his eyes water. "Holy fucking God.”

Benny groans above him, grinding, ratcheting the torment and ecstasy to a new high. Even as he pants and whimpers, Dean still wants Death. Wants Benny to finish him.

Like an answer to prayer, the fangs sink deeper, spreading a white hot surge through his system. Dean’s breathless mouth gapes, eyes shoot wide open.

Benny shrouds him like a blanket, like armor. He drains away Dean's resistance along with every pain he’s ever known. He leaves only bliss. Only this. Pumping into him and drawing out. Dean twists, tenses, and cries out as release hits him like a freight train -- like a two-hundred pound vampire — Benny's name a benediction spilling from his split lips.

The cave has gone pitch black. Whatever muddy star gives off the dull, grey light in this forsaken place has long since abandoned the sky. Dean lacks the strength or will to open his eyes.

Every cell in his exhausted body flickers moon-bright as tender fingers brush over his hair, as soft fur around softer lips are pressed to his temple. An angel soft whisper rushes over his ear, “You’re a miracle. You know that?”

Dean can only moan, face streaked wet as Benny caresses his back.

"Thank you.”


	2. Chapter 2

[ ](https://imgur.com/9OVVvfw)

“No.” The mortal lashes out like a serpent.

Although his blow lacks energy and conviction, Benny respects Dean's space, like he would any cornered beast.

Dean hoists himself to his hands and knees. When he tries to stand, his legs give out and he careens forward. Benny hurries to keep him from tumbling face first into the dirt. “You lost a lot of… Just take it easy.”

“Get your fucking hands off of me,” Dean hisses like a mudsnake.

“Dean.” Benny keeps his voice quiet as he reaches out to stop the human from staggering and falling yet again.

Dean's swings are wild and he goes down in the process, laying in the dirt, gasping.

Benny kneels beside him and Dean snarls. Benny raises his hands and takes a step back.

Benny’s strength is far more than replenished. Vitality thrills in his veins like electricity. Better even than cocaine in his human days. The only trouble is, the selfless ally to whom he owes this new power and his very life won’t let Benny within five feet without spitting or cursing.

So, he presses his back to the damp cave wall and watches the man crawl a few yards, before he collapses again and rasps, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

Benny nods although he knows the human can’t see. Benny’s vision is actually better in the pitch darkness of a cave than in broad daylight. It’s one of the few things about the change that he’s never regretted.

Dean’s breath is even, the flow of his blood is calm in Benny's ears. Before he passed out, he managed to find and curl his fingers around that cobbled together blade. He twitches like a dog in his sleep. The corner of Benny’s lip curls up at a memory of the old, mottled mutt on the plantation where his grandmother worked as a the only white cook.

Roy used to follow him around, licking the bacon fat off of his chubby fingers, slobbering on his face until Benny was covered with dog spit and lard. He had been just about eight, exploring the woods like he did every day, when Roy had started growling.

“Relax, boy,” he'd told the dog just before a feral hog sprung.

It all happened so fast, there was hardly time for Benny to see his friend dive in front of him. Ol’ Roy wasn’t much of a fighter, but he took the tusks through his side, saving the boy to grow up and become a bloodsucking monster with senses even keener than a canine's.

The vampire smells - no, hears (Benny has never been able to understand the nature of his blood sense). Some dark part of him _knows_ the rush of dream-induced adrenaline in Dean’s blood. There is rapture, too, a kind of high. Benny can imagine who he’s with and what he’s doing in his reverie. When they’re not fighting, Dean hardly ever stops yapping about hunting with his baby brother.

The scent of the human is a real, old-fashioned smell, and it’s intoxicating in a way it wasn’t before. Benny breathes in deeply, closes his eyes, and tries to let one heavy dose of it slip through him and be enough. It doesn’t satisfy, but rather provokes the Thing within him. He has long been the master of his own beast, but it roars behind his ears with a ferocity it hasn’t ever shown. keeps his palms pressed to the wall of the cave behind him. Unable to resist, he leans forward toward that scent, taking another heady inhale.

Benny keeps his palms pressed to the wall of the cave behind him until he's unable to resist. Then he leans forward and takes another heady inhale.

Dean’s dream must be changing; his blood reeks of fear. The sweet stink beckons. He’s full and rejuvenated and it shouldn’t entice him, but something has changed.

The Thing within him rattles the bars of its cage.

Benny turns away, tucks his face under his arm and tries to stop breathing. It doesn’t matter. He is gorged on Dean and he wants to taste him again.

Only a taste. He’ll only touch that warm skin on Dean’s fitfully sleeping face. He’ll smooth the turmoil from his brow. Just a touch … and a taste, the Thing bargains.

Benny’s fangs flash. He forces them back, sucks in an excruciating breath, and whimpers low in his throat.

He’s never been so drawn by any human’s scent before, not even Andrea’s. He’d never told her how her blood sang to him and never given in to its siren call. Even before Purgatory, it'd been years since Benny properly fed. He drank blood, not people. He'd indulged his thirst, not his hunger for the kill. Basically, he'd lived like a heroin junkie slaking his addiction on nicotine.

Until today.

He'd never fed like today, never to heal a mortal wound, never consumed by lust. And he is changed. He feels that in the core of his being -- some indelible mark left by this man and this moment.

Benny crouches low and creeps on all fours until his face is an inch from Dean’s. His human is so deep in sleep ... And he smells like a freshly baked peach pie.

Benny tries to control his breathing. Every exhale spills out shaky and wanton until he is panting. His tongue flickers at the sweat pooling above Dean’s collarbone. He licks the coppery, tangy scabs forming over where fangs broke the skin. Laves a thick strip up the side of Dean’s face. It’s a compromise. He wants so much more.

Benny presses his nose to Dean’s dancing jugular, sucks at the salty skin before closing his eyes and burying his face in the cotton-soft neck. He takes a deep inhale. And another.

Every time he plans to tear himself away, he can’t. He is still breathing Dean when the sun begins to rise and the man stirs.

Benny backs away, like a skittish mutt. Dean groans, turns his head aside and goes on sleeping. When he stills again, the vampire slinks closer and presses his face into the back of Dean’s head, soaking in the dirty-dulcet aroma trapped in his unwashed hair.

When the human awakens, Benny’s back is pressed to the wall of the cave, as if he had never moved.

Dean sits up and looks at him and weighs his weapon in his hands. The caution becomes hostility; Benny senses the change in Dean’s blood even before his back stiffens and his features harden.

Slowly, but firmly, he makes his way to his feet. Benny doesn’t move.

“You stay the fuck away from me, hear?” His voice is low - sounds like business, but there's a waver that human ears would miss.

“Dean, I-- ”

He points his blade at Benny’s face from his safe distance across the cave. “This is the end of the goddam line. You’re lucky I don’t fucking kill you.”

Benny bows his head, “What happened…"

“Never happened.” Dean takes a bolstering breath and slips out of cave.

Benny doesn’t follow.

At least, not intentionally.

He plans to respect the human’s wishes and leave him alone. He stalks off in the opposite direction from where Dean departed. Less than an hour later, he catches sight of the human in a clearing and knows he's been inadvertently following the scent of that blood.

Benny's tongue massages over his aching fangs. The vampire tells himself he wants to protect his ally, his friend. Never mind the images in his mind of Dean’s body desiccated on the ground.

Benny hears the approach long before Dean’s blood sings out his alarm and the mortal backs himself against a huge boulder and waits. Any human would see Dean’s confident expression, his smooth breath and intent eyes and never know that there is a glorious spike of terror in his blood before he strikes.

It nearly draws Benny from his hiding place.

“To protect. Protect. Protect,” he murmurs like a mantra.

Dean’s fear blossoms into hatred, which is nearly as fragrant.

Benny has never stood aside and watched Dean fight before. He'd always battled at his side. It is a thing of beauty, like the man himself. Swift, efficient, smart, with only the slightest edge of irresistible showmanship. A swell of pride rises in his chest as Dean takes down the third vamp. Benny smiles and nods as if he had trained the fighter himself.

Day fades into starless night. Benny is like a wildlife scientist, daring to approach this immaculate specimen, but not moving close enough to touch or disturb. Only near enough for the wind to carry the symphony of Dean’s blood directly to his yearning senses.

The pulse itself always beats hard and heavy, like timpani. The low, warm notes are cellos and maybe Dean is remembering some girl when the sweet highs of flutes and violins trill. Something startles him and adrenaline blasts through his veins like trumpets heralding a march.

Dean doesn’t need to sleep in Purgatory, but he said it adds a comforting rhythm to the day. Benny would sleep if he could. It's been more than half a century since he's been able.

The human hides himself and waits for day. Benny lingers close, listening all night long. At times, his hands rise to push and pull at the air in time with Dean's pulse, like a half-drunk conductor.

Three days later, Dean is still limping from an encounter with a werewolf when Benny steps out in front of his former ally.

The human’s chin raises. Despite his posture, Benny hears the apprehension, bordering deliciously on fright.

“No seconds, Ben.” Dean's fist tightens around his blade.

Benny drops his knife to the ground, showing himself to be friend, not fiend. Dean does not mimic the motion, but his eyes narrow with curiosity.

The smell of him from this close is much more potent than the night time draughts Benny’s been having. The Thing hurls itself against the cage of Benny's mind, urging him to take a taste, to have a bite, to subdue and finish this man. A fighter makes such delectable prey.

He licks his lips without meaning to. Dean takes a step back. Benny lunges.

This is no time to savor the cocktail of hormones that courses through Dean when he throws a punch, and even more so when he is struck. And no time for a fair fight.

Benny’s brute strength is his natural advantage, but Dean is a trained killer. They are nowhere near evenly matched, even with his vampire instincts fully unleashed. But he has been watching the hunter for days. He knows Dean’s style and which defensive moves he favors. Benny also knows that Dean fights with integrity, does not strike when a man is down or has his back turned.

That is his downfall.

Benny releases the Thing within him, though not entirely. He keeps it on its leash but lets it rule the brawl without honor or remorse. Only a few minutes later, Benny is standing behind Dean, holding both arms pinned behind his back.

He closes his eyes, retracts his fangs and cages the Thing again. Then, he rewards it with a loud sniff at his quarry's neck.

“You give up yet?” Dean jokes, but he’s terrified.

The scent of it is almost more than Benny can bear. He shivers with the effort of restraint.

In that same instant, Dean’s fear becomes laced with arousal. Benny smells it on him, thick and lurid. He growls softly against the back of Dean’s neck and the heat in the man’s blood intensifies. Benny palms his rigid crotch and Dean leans back against him.

“Now, you want it.” The taunt is not from Benny.

He'd never bait a man this way, would never mock him in his vulnerability. But Benny is no longer fully himself.

Dean struggles and Benny shoves him hard against a tree. “Say it.”

The human’s heart races with a need so noisy that Benny is already grinding against his ass, as much to pleasure himself as to meet Dean’s want. He moans and lets his head fall back on Benny's shoulder.

“Say the words, Dean.”

Dean juts his ass against Benny’s wood and grumbles, “Just fuckin’ do it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Benny’s thumb slides into his mouth and Dean sucks away the blood and dirt.

He has done this before, but not this. He’s done this to people before. Girls, not people. Girls are people, but … Dean’s mind struggles and fails to keep up with what’s happening.

He takes a few deep breaths.

What is happening is that he is ass to cock with a vampire and well on his way to getting plugged again. And this time, he'd asked for it. He hadn’t expressly said the words ‘fuck me,’ but they had been on the tip of his tongue.

God help him, he'd wanted this. Still does.

Every girl he's ever been with, Dean had maintained firm control. It’s how he always thought it should be. If they ask him to, he bosses them around a little bit, tugs on their hair. Nothing too rough. Sex isn’t a fucking hunt. When you’re alone with someone who’s smaller and weaker, it’s a precious gift. Even with some truck-stop tramp on her knees, Dean maintains the utmost respect for that ten minutes.

This isn’t a bedroom. It isn’t some nasty bathroom stall or the back of the Impala. This is Purgatory. There is nothing here but heat, stink, pain, and fear. In the midst of all that, the pressure from this man at his back, the finger in his mouth, it's all a revelation.

From the moment he’d landed in Purgatory, Dean had lost all urges. Hunger, thirst, lust were stripped gone from him, leaving only his will to survive. This thing with Benny is fulfilling some other need, touching him deeper than any food or sex ever have.

Dean leans his blade against the tree, within easy reach. For the first time in his life, he allows himself to melt, to become the offering: humbled, elevated, and confused as all Hell.

The thumb pops out of his mouth and Benny presses the moistened digit to Dean’s hole.

“Whoa.” He tenses, as if he hadn’t known that was coming.

Dean has a healthy appreciation for anal. If a girl is up for it, he’ll tap her ass, absolutely. But he never fiddled with his own. It had always seemed too gay -- not that he had a problem with other people being gay. He'd just never even entertained the thought of himself as gay, so he'd never messed with his own asshole.

If he had only known, he'd have bought himself a dildo years ago.

If gasping and whining like a little virgin at the sensation of Benny’s thumb inside of him makes Dean gay or bi or some other kind of sexual, it's time to swap out the card he's carrying from here on out. Because, “Fuck.”

It’s not much preparation and Benny’s shaft burns on reentry. Dean bites into his sleeve as Benny pulls at the fabric so his fangs can penetrate his other shoulder.

Dean’s body combusts from the inside. “Jesus.”

“Nope. Just me,” Benny replies, a smile on his voice.

Dean's laugh is cut off by a loud gasp. The head of Benny's dick glides over his prostate and he sways on his feet, leaning into the tree. There's still part of him that wants to resist, but it's fading fast.

Dean may not have been able to receive this revelation in the muddled mess of his topside life. All the cultural baggage and bullshit of being a ‘red-blooded, hetero, American male’ might have kept him from hearing the voice of God blaring in his ear. But it’s coming through, now, loud and clear in his full, throbbing ass. It’s singing through his surrendered body. Dean Winchester has become a prophet. The word of the Lord is-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Dean closes his eyes and revels in the raw tug of a calloused hand on his hip.

Benny tears him out of his jacket and lifts his shirt so his hairy, clammy chest slides over Dean's back. Fangs pierce the skin over his ribs, grind against bone. Benny grabs a fistful of his dick.

Dean starts to protest and he can’t. He can only moan and relent to his body being driven forward and rocked back, stroked and savored.

“You like that?” Dean hardly recognizes the sound

Dean hardly recognizes the sound as Benny’s voice.

“God. Yes.”

“Is this what you want?”

What does Benny want from him, a poem? “Fuck.”

Something cool and wet slides down his ass crack, adding a little relief to the chafing. He assumes Benny has spat on him and the thought of it sparks in his chest. Benny grabs his wrists, folds his arms behind his back and thrusts like he is trying to break him. All of Dean’s weight supported by those hands gripping him tighter than cuffs, his face scrapes against the tree bark. Benny shifts Dean’s body a few inches aside and Dean lets his head fall forward, dying to be broken and put back together again.

He opens his mouth to sigh just as Benny speaks, “Gentlemen.” His hips slow, but don’t stop.

His hips slow, but don’t stop.

Dean hadn’t heard them approaching. He’d been oblivious to anything, everything other than Benny and pain-spiked pleasure.

A band of at least half a dozen men has gathered around them, watching with cold curiosity.

“What the fuck?” The heat in Dean’s chest freezes over.

This time, when Benny bites him, it hurts. Real pain. The thrill is fucking gone.

Dean struggles to straighten his spine, to get away. Benny wrenches his wrists higher up his back, dick still lodged in to the hilt.

“Let me go.” Dean writhes and bucks. The demand sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. He’s not sure exactly what these creatures are, but they sure ain’t paramedics and his heart is pounding out of control. “Benny, this isn’t fucking funny.”

The vampire shakes him roughly. “Quiet, now. Grown folks are talking.”

One of the men starts a slow clap. A cruel grin spreads over the man’s neatly shaven face. “Bravo. Now, hand him over.”

“You ain’t going to let me bust my nut first?” There is a laugh beneath the surface of Benny’s voice.

Dean tries to sweep back with one of his feet and throw Benny off balance. The vampire merely jacks his hands further up his back, until Dean’s shoulders and elbows ache. “You fucker.”

A different man speaks up. “Deal was: we squeal, free meal.”

“Check out Robert Frost over here,” Benny chuckles.

Dean’s teeth grind as he imagines slitting the vampire’s throat and watching him bleed out.

These things must be leviathans. All those greedy bastards think about is eating, even in Purgatory. Usually they land in thunderous, bubbling, black blobs that morph into human-looking monsters. This can only have been a pre-planned ambush.

“Time’s up, Dracula.”

“Let me finish, point the way and he’s all yours.” The hand not binding Dean’s wrists is clamped around his throat as Benny begins to pummel his ass once again.

A zipper slips open and Dean strains his neck to get a view behind him. Benny slaps the side of his head, making his ears ring. “Face forward.”

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill you.” Dean’s words are clipped by the driving force behind and within him.

Benny’s laughter sounds more like howling. “Somehow, I don’t think y’are.” He leans his elbow

He leans his elbow into Dean’s back and forces him to bend over further as his hips pick up a punishing rhythm.

Dean’s face grates against the tree and he groans, “I swear to God.”

“So, you boys fucking or feasting?” Benny asks like a host at a grill. “You do smell this?”

“I don’t see why not both. That scent is amazing. He’s terrified.”

“So angry,” one of them cackles and steps close enough to smack Dean’s ass.

He growls and twists, but remains powerless to break the hold.

“And sad,” another voice adds with scientific interest. “How’d you get it to trust you?”

“What can I say? I’m a wily fuck,” Benny answers, pressing his face into Dean’s neck.

The hunter closes his eyes, anticipating the fangs. He gets what he expects. What he does not expect is for the fangs to retract so quickly or to hear the sound of kissing, Benny and the nearest leviathan sharing his blood.

The other monster breaks the kiss and moans, “Oh, that’s good.”

“Hurry the fuck up,” one of the others goad him.

Benny stills. “Fine. Where’s the portal?”

“Three days march southwest. I don’t know, maybe you’ll see it because you were once human. How does that work, Graham?”

“I don’t think so.” Graham’s fingers are plying for entrance to Dean’s tightly clenched mouth.

He tries to turn away, but his chin in trapped in the leviathan’s vice-like grip.

“But even if you manage to find it, how do you expect to get out?”

“Like I said, I have my ways.” Benny pulls out of Dean before he finishes, but maintains a secure grip on his hands.

Dean’s entire body feels empty, his soul hollow.

“All yours, gents. Sorry, cher. Like you said, ‘end of the line’.” He gives Dean’s ass an almost gentle pat and turns over his wrists to Graham.

As Benny closes his pants and steps away, Dean roars like a madman and fights to free himself. While Graham holds him, one of the other leviathans pummels his face repeatedly until he is too stunned to struggle anymore. He is too beaten to do anything but hang there and suffer this indignity and pain.

Dean has just enough presence of mind left to know that Benny has gone.

“Let’s just eat him,” a whiny voice suggests.

Graham sucks his teeth. “There is more than one way to use this meatsuit, Steve. Trust me. It’ll be worth it. And then, we’ll eat him.”

Dean continues to struggle, even as two of them spread his arms out to the side and he is bent in half. “I am going to end every last one of you,” he threatens between his teeth, because it’s better than crying like a baby.

“Sure, you are.”

One of them, he assumes Graham, is lining himself up to Dean’s tightly clenched asshole.

Then, Graham is falling to the ground. All of them fall, one after the other, in rapid succession. The flat thud of disembodied heads hitting the dirt, followed immediately by their corpses, is one Dean knows well. Even as the last one goes down, he stands with his back to the tree, jeans bunched around his ankles, hands curled into fists.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean blinks, eyes rove over the pile of heads and bodies at his feet.

“You’re welcome.” Benny smirks.

Those bottle green eyes rise to his face and the vampire stills. A southern boy is a natural master at playing it cool, even as his guts twist so tight he wants to scream.

The human rights his clothing, picks up his blade and leans back against the tree. His breathing is still faster than normal, pulse elevated, but the smell of fear is receding from him. “I think a fuck you is in order.”

At that, Benny lets out the breath he had been holding along with a hearty laugh. “Fair enough.”

“We are never doing that shit again, unless you want to be the bait.” Dean’s cheek puff out as he exhales and wipes a hand down his face.

“No way, cher. You got all the honey. The flies come looking for you.”

Dean turns up his nose. “Would you stop fucking calling me that?”

As he kicks off from the trunk, Benny blocks the way with his broader body. He runs a hand down Dean’s pretty face, brushing over the spot where the skin was abraded by bark. “Cher? You know what it means?”

Dean raises his chin, but he doesn't move or protest. “She’s a fucking singer.”

“Never heard of her.”

“You never heard of Cher?” The human pokes his lips out and does an impression that is hilarious even though Benny doesn’t know the original.

He can’t begin to imagine what all he’s missed in the last 50 years. It hasn’t exactly been a subject of discussion before now. Benny chuckles and looks at Dean’s lips before licking his own. “It means precious.”

Apprehension and arousal roil in the man’s blood. Benny can’t help himself: leans to soak in the scent of his turmoil. Dean tenses and the aroma intensifies. Benny lowers his nose to his neck, that calculated motion spiking Dean’s fear tenfold. The rising level of carbon dioxide in his veins gives off an acrid odor, like burning tar. Benny peppers a tender kiss over his vein and murmurs, “Breathe."

Once Dean obeys, his blood begins to oxygenate. Benny smiles and takes in the refreshed scent. His hands run over Dean’s shoulders and down his arms. He snakes a hand under the man’s jacket, beneath his shirt and caresses the small of his back. He rubs against Dean’s thigh, not unlike a horny dog, helping himself to a little much-needed pressure. “This is all your doing, cher.”

“Don’t call me that.” The human’s voice is low, head bowed, blood thrilling with fuck-or-fight hormones Benny doesn’t need to know the scientific names of to recognize.

He latches onto Dean’s neck and sucks, without breaking skin. Just a gentle, noiseless tug of tongue on skin.

“Back off, all right.” Heat flares in Dean and he shoves Benny away. “Give me a minute.”

Benny nods and rallies all of his self-control to comply. Dean stretches his shoulders back, rolls his neck and tries to be discreet about adjusting his crotch. Benny smiles to himself and watches the human check out their most recent fatalities. “How the hell did you take down six of these fuckers and so fast?”

“Well, I had just had you - in the culinary, not the carnal sense. And you were, fairly scared out of your wits, wouldn’t you say?”

Dean gapes at him, waiting for further explanation.

“Your blood is food. Your fear is ... it's a drug. Ain't no other way to put it. The way I healed before? I never seen nothing like that. And I have to assume it's because I ... because of the way it went down.” He clears his throat.

Dean winces and starts to turn away. Benny catches his arm. “Hey. I didn’t meant to… You liked it in the end, didn’t you?”

“No.” Dean answers sharply, snatching back his arm. “I don’t know.”

“I take it you never…"

“Fuck, no. I never.” Dean picks up his Purgatory blade, eyes searching, probably for something to kill.

“Well, then, I’m sorry that was your first experience.”

Dean looks at him, as if he’s waiting for a punchline. “Do I look like I need your fucking apology?”

He puts on a good front: smooth features and belligerence. Behind it, there's a weight, a sadness that causes Benny's chest to tighten like it hasn’t in years. He opens his mouth to apologize again, because it's all he can think to say.

Dean cuts him off. “We need to get moving. We find Castiel and we get the fuck out of this place.”

“Amen to that, brother.”

 

***

 

Time passes in Purgatory exactly the same as on earth: a day is a day, a month is a month. The problem in Purgatory is counting time. There's no Sabbath day to keep holy and remind you that another week has been wasted. There’s not even a stone wall where one can crudely scratch off the days, like a POW in some death camp. There's only killing and surviving, day in and day out.

So, it might be a week later, might be more when Benny sits, like he does every night, watching Dean stare into darkness. As always, they had found a crag between boulders to stay hidden for the black hours, because as gifted a fighter as Dean is, he is compromised at night.

As always, Benny tracks the hints on the human’s blood and tries to imagine the story on his mind. It was entertaining the first time he did it, back when he first met the human. It’s torturous now. The louder the melody of Dean’s blood sings, the more Benny wants to know the words - especially when the notes become long wistful refrains of longing.

Breaking the unspoken rule of nighttime silence between them, Benny whispers, “What you thinking ‘bout?

Dean looks over at him, face at once solemn and strained. He shakes his head.

“Your girl?” Benny asks, quashing the irrational pang of jealousy.

Dean scoffs. “No girl.”

The answer is a relief, but hard to believe. “You don't have a girl topside?”

Dean shrugs, sparse movements and speech belying the simmering sentiments in him.

“How is that possible?”

The human taps his heel and searches around him, as if mapping out an escape route. Finally, he looks back at Benny, features revealing how torn he is. “Had a girl.”

“What was her name?” He asks, almost afraid of the answer.

“Lisa.”

There isn’t much residual emotion when Dean says it and that is strangely comforting to Benny. He nods and Dean continues.

“She had a kid, house, lawn, the whole nine. I got a fucking job.” He chuckles darkly.

“It was a good time?” Benny asks, because Dean doesn’t land on a single clear feeling as he talks about it. He’s all over the place: pride, anguish, lust, resentment.

“It was ... weird.”

“I guess I know what you mean. I was 17 years old when my wife got pregnant. She wasn’t my wife until she did. Then, her daddy and her brothers saw to that.” Benny has to laugh, remembering the ass kicking that had been the prelude to his wedding.

“You’re married?” Dean’s brow shoots up. His expression matches what Benny hears: shock with a side of disappointment.

“Long time ago. Loralynn Moreau Lafitte. Wasn't all that pretty but she sure loved me. We had four little boys: Ben Jr, of course…”

“Course.” Dean chuckles. “Mine, too… Lisa’s kid. His name’s Ben.”

“No way.” Benny has to smile at that coincidence and at the way Dean lights up talking about the kid. There is no ambivalence there. He sincerely cares for the boy.

“Yup.”

“After Ben, we had Will, Louis and little Tommy.”

“Jesus. That’s a lot of kids.” Dean shakes his head, as if the thought of it makes him dizzy.

He has no idea. Benny had lived it. “You ain’t jokin’.”

Dean raises a single palm. “Hold up. Ben, Jr? You named your kid BJ?”

Benny snickers, “I can honestly say I didn’t think of it at the time.”

“You got to think about these things, man. BJ Lafitte. Come on.”

Benny couldn’t help laugh. The way this human thinks is … unique, to say the least. “We had a little girl, too. She didn't make it, though.” Just as quickly, all the mirth is gone.

Benny hasn’t thought of her - of them - in ages. He’s glad the human can’t see well in this utter lack of light.

“What happened?”

“TB, man. Worst day of my life.” Benny can’t remember the last time he cried. He figured he had emptied himself clean out weeping beside that little girl’s straw mattress.

“What was her name?”

Benny scratches his nose. “Eleanor.” His voice is shaky. His whole body trembles as if he’s back in that filthy shack, watching that no-good doctor shake his head and walk out with every dollar Benny had been able to beg, borrow and steal.

Dean is respectfully silent for a while. Then, he asks, “Were you a good dad?”

What a question? Who asks a grieving father that question? And how is Benny supposed to answer for who he was a hundred years ago. He had been young. Stupid. Unprepared. He shrugs. “I guess I was all right, when I was around. Never hit ‘em or anything. More than I can say for my old man. Was a shitty husband, though.” Dean hadn’t asked, but while he’s confessing his sins, he might as well put that out there.

“Yeah, but she loved you.”

“That she did.”

Dean thumbs the edge of his blade. “What’d you do?”

“Not much of anything other than drink and smoke and sundry other recreational activities. Played a lot of poker. I was kind of what folks call a shiftless, good-for-nothing bum.”

Listening to Dean think over that is like pressing his ear to a clock. Gears turning equal parts amusement, surprise, disgust and intrigue. He shifts through those reactions swiftly and settles on what Benny can only call compassion. He hasn’t heard or felt the likes of it since his days with Andrea. It warms and startles him.

Dean’s brow furrows, “You know, you coulda told me anything.”

“I know.”

“So, why?” There is a slight edge of mistrust in his voice and his blood, but mostly that other thing. The kind, patient thing.

After his Maker had killed Andrea and sent him to Purgatory, Benny hadn’t expected to ever feel this kind of tenderness directed at him again. It’s overwhelming and heavy. It feels like the balancing side of losing Ellie that day. Loss and Redemption. He holds his peace a moment longer, collecting his thoughts and reveling in the warmth still pouring off Dean.

No self-respecting American man displays the level of emotion he’s feeling, so, Benny shrugs. “Felt good. Get it off my chest.” Then, he adds, but quieter. “Didn't want to lie to you anyway.”

Dean’s hand doesn't land on his thigh. It hovers above the denim. He is so afraid, the scent is rich, like Christmas in Beverly Hills. Not battlefield fear, bedroom trepidation: all sugar plum fairies and roasting chestnuts. And goddamn, Benny never thought he’d smell that again.

Benny rests his hand over Dean’s. He’s even so bold as to twine his fingers with the human’s. In for a penny, right? It doesn’t ease Dean’s fear or his own: only changes it.

Dean starts in defensive. “This doesn’t mean…”

“Of course.” Benny tries to ease him, sensing the terror threatening to outweigh the yearning. “What is it you want?”

"I don't know.” He is telling the truth, at least as far as Benny can tell by his churning blend of craving and revulsion.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“I don't know.”

“Would it be okay with you if I…"

Dean squints, possibly trying to see Benny more clearly or understand what he’s asking.

For his part, Benny can’t believe the words had blurted out of his stupid mouth. If there’s any way to ruin the moment, it’s by reminding your date that they’re what you eat. Oh, well. He’s stepped in it now. “You smell amazing.”

He winces, waiting for Dean to punch him or worse.

“You want to bite me?” He’s not angry or afraid, so much as surprised and a little grossed out.

Benny rolls his lips together. He’d rather not want it, but he does. So bad. He’s not entirely sure he won’t take it no matter what Dean says. Benny has been so good. He has earned this: behaved so well, in spite of The Thing’s deep, dark, constant, pulsing urges. Even now, this asking goes against its nature. But he’s pleading, shaking with need. “Just a taste. Then I'll do whatever you want.”

Benny has been so good. He's earned this. Behaved so well, in spite of The Thing’s deep, dark, constant, pulsing urge. Even now, this asking goes against Its nature. But he’s pleading, shaking with need. “Just a taste. Then I'll do whatever you want.”

Skeptical, at best. At worst, guarded. Dean’s spine stiffens, blood thickens with hunger not unlike Benny’s own. The vampire takes a cautious breath of Dean, stock still on the surface. So alive, just beneath.

His fangs spring loose and breach tender skin. Luscious life’s blood flows into Benny like the holy River Jordan. His hands grasps Dean’s wrists, holding him motionless, though it's unnecessary. The human is afraid, but not fighting.

He’s excited, too. Benny knows he would find a stiff and eager member, if only he could relinquish his possession of Dean’s hands.

It’ll be time to pull up soon. After all, he’s not quenching thirst, but sating a jones.

Dean shifts, muscles barely stir, but Benny feels it. The Thing in him would never stop. It would drink Dean dry and crack the bones with its fangs to scrape and slurp away the marrow.

The Thing in him would never stop. It would drink Dean dry and crack the bones with its fangs to scrape and slurp away the marrow.

Benny is not that Thing. He has a final hit and lets him go. For good measure, he backs away, licking the flavor from his human teeth.

Dean’s mouth is parted, eyes fully dilated. “I want you to …”

“Yes?” The word drips from Benny’s lips, syrupy slow.

“You know.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

Dean put some distance between them. IEnough space for Benny to drop himself into and become lost. He leans towards Dean’s heat, but the human turns his back. “You never needed to hear it before now.”

“This is different," Benny says. "Ain’t nobody dying or in danger and I … never was my intention to hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that's what I like. When you hurt me.” Dean's blood is colder, a mineral smell coming off of him, like sniffing stone.

“Is it?”

“I don’t know.” It’s not entirely true. His blood is awash with fear again. Not mortal fear, but humiliation.

Benny is generous enough not to make him beg. There’s only one thing he wants for himself. He grabs Dean’s throat and squeezes, not murderous, but not gentle either. The man clutches his wrist and gasps for air. “I can hurt you, if you want.”

He flashes his fangs. Dean’s eyes flutter shut, CO2 flooding his system, arousal sparking, crackling and igniting Benny’s. 

“Is that what you want?” All he wants in this world and the next is to give Dean Winchester whatever he wants.

The human hangs his head, blood saturated with dark desire and shame. “Yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

[ ](https://imgur.com/tS37iL2)

Every day is fast, wicked, dirty. Three werewolves back to back. Another five spring from the brush. In the heat of the fray, Dean reaches behind him to touch Benny. Brief contact, less than a second, but when he finds that shoulder, the hunter’s resolve hardens like cooling steel. His energy redoubles and he fights for both of their lives.

When the battle is finished and they're surrounded by headless corpses, Dean surveys the dead. There’s a low growl. Benny shoves him hard against a tree: kissing, pawing, pulling at his clothes.

Dean takes a fistful of Benny’s jacket and yanks the vampire’s stocky form flush with his own. Their kisses are always filthy, open mouthed, grunted plundering of each other’s mouths. With the enemy down, they clash with each other for control. Benny’s fangs peek out and slice Dean’s tongue. He knocks the vampire back and touches a finger to his blood-filled mouth. “You fucker.”

Benny’s grin becomes a peal of laughter. “You gonna cry.”

“Fuck you.” Dean starts to walk away.

“Come on. You not really mad. I know you’re not. I can smell it. You’re just fucking with me.”

Dean spins on his heels. “You know, that’s not fucking fair.”

“Tell it to Mother Nature.”

Dean gives him the finger and stalks off.

“Now, you’re actually mad, but it’s only because of my superiority.”

The day goes on like every day in Purgatory: blood, heat, stink and Benny at his back.

By the time the sun sets, they find a cavern, which is a step up from the places where they usually pass the night. This is practically a motel room, in comparison.

Either Benny is thinking the same thing or this is another one of his eerie, mind-reading moments. He smirks and says, “What do you say, we put the sofa right here?” 

Dean drops his blade and runs both hands over his hair. He can feel the vampire watching him and he draws out the motion, flexing his biceps and arching his back to put on a good show.

“Why don’t you come here?” Benny’s voice is low and dark and his drawl gets about twice as thick when he’s turned on.

It fucking does things to Dean he would rather it didn’t. “Why don’t you make me?”

Benny crosses the space and locks his arms around Dean, grabbing his ass in both hands. “Look, I been thinking. Once we find that portal, I reckon it’s going to get pretty hot pretty quick. There’s a lot of creatures don’t want you to get outta here alive. I need to be sure you know what to do so we can make it happen fast.”

“You mean after we get Cas.”

Benny purses his lips.

“It’s not optional, Benny.”

The vampire sucks his teeth and nods. “You need to know the incantation.”

“Incantation?” Dean grimaces.

“When I say I'm gonna hitch a ride, what do you think I'm going in your pocket?”

“I figured…"

Benny’s breath is hot on his ear. “You'll need to let me into your body.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. This guy is worse than him with the lines.

In one smooth move, Benny spins him and grinds his dick against Dean’s ass. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

They’re both still fully clothed and it’s all just heavy petting, but Dean has been ready to go since they took down the last werewolf. “What are we talking about, exactly?”

“How's your Latin?”

“Better than average.”

“Conjunti sumus _. Unum_ sumus _._ ” Benny is just as ready as he is, hard and pressed up against him.

Dean translates. “Join us together. Make us one.”

“Ipsum.” Benny’s voice is so warm, it’s always a surprise how ice-cold his hands are.

They crawl up Dean’s shirt. His nipples bud in anticipation and from the cold, just before they both get a firm tweak. Dean sucks in a loud breath as heat swirls with the chill. “Sounds like a wedding vow.”

“You said it, brother, not me.”

Dean narrows his eyes. It’s almost funny, but not quite. “What happens after that?”

“No idea. But me inside of you, it’s bound to be fun.” He opens Dean’s belt, too slowly.

Dean yanks off his jacket and tosses it away. Same with the flannel and the ripped t-shirt. Benny nibbles his ear, working his zipper down one fucking tooth at a time. Dean knocks his hands away and shoves the pants to his knees.

“Hey. I was thinking, maybe we take it little easy tonight.”

“Why?”

“You must be … I mean, you gotta be sore.”

It’s true. Dean gets good and properly fucked every night. It’s not like there’s a Walgreen’s in Purgatory and vampire spit ain’t exactly KY.

“I’m fine.”

Benny’s freezing paws train down Dean’s ribs until he shudders and braces himself for fangs as the vampire lowers its face to his side. Instead of bitten, he is kissed - fondly, gently.

“Quit playing around.” Dean pushes him.

“I think we ought to cool it a little bit.” He takes Dean’s wrist and runs his palm so that he feels his own side.

And so what, it’s covered with scabs forming over scores of bite marks. So fucking what? Dean jams his naked ass back against the vampire. “Come on, Benny.”

“Tell me one thing. What am I punishing you for?” Benny still worships his back with frigid fingers followed by a strangely hot mouth and the scruff of his beard.

“Would you just shut up and fuck me? Before I change my mind.” Dean spits out the threat before he thinks the words through. As soon as he says it, he regrets it.

“Not likely, there. I know a junkie when I see one.”

“Fine.” Dean’s heart sinks into his gut, but he pulls up his pants and stalks toward the back of the cave.

He can’t see shit and feels like an idiot, walking with his hands out in front of him.

“Dean. Don't be like that. Listen.” In an instant, Benny is behind him, arms wrapped around tight again, voice like warm molasses.

It’s good, but what Dean wants is dick, fangs, fingers corking every entrance, making new ones. “Benny. Come on, man. Please.”

Benny kisses his neck - just a peck. “I want to try something different.”

Benny has never been naked before now. When they get full cover, he always strips Dean of every stitch, including his socks. Then, he usually drops trou just enough to handle business. Dean still can’t see him in the pitch black, but he lets his fingers do the walking. He’s a furry fuck and far from svelte. Dean wants every wooly, chunky inch.

He grabs a handful of Benny’s dick. It’s thick, like the rest of him. Otherwise, not particularly awe-inspiring. Dean’s knees start to bend, but he still can’t bring himself to do it. So, he jacks hard and rough until Benny takes his wrist. “Hey. Relax. I ain’t going nowhere.”

That grip has become one of Dean’s favorite goddamn things. He stands still, savoring the sensation of Benny’s beefy palm, fingers tightening.

“You like that?”

Dean nods, breath uneven. Could he break the hold? Probably. Maybe. Maybe not.

And that's what gets him hot: the vulnerability. Benny could snap his neck, draw too much blood, fuck him dizzy and chop his head off like they do to countless bastards day in and day out.

All day long, they are partners, equals. Like this, Dean is completely at his mercy. And there is the answer to Benny's question: Dean needs to be punished. He deserves to be punished for wanting this.

The punishment now isn't pain or humiliation. It’s the slow, tender way Benny is kneading his sack and licking - not biting, not even sucking - but lapping his way across Dean’s chest. It's sweet and unjustified: fucking torture.

“Benny.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ben.”

The vampire growls and that gives Dean a little thrill. "Bite me."

“Now, that ain't polite.” There’s always a hint of an easy smile on Benny’s voice.

“Fucking bite me, you asshole.”

“That's how your daddy taught you to talk to people?” The vampire is practically laughing now, toying with him.

Dean lashes out. Benny head is low, tonguing his navel, so the momentum of gravity make it a vicious blow.

The vampire snarls, stands upright and takes Dean by his throat.

This is more like it. Dean’s blood rushes in his ears. Benny's breath is ragged and savage and the smell always foul when the fangs spring out of anger. Instinctively, Dean turns away from the stink.

Benny takes his face in his hand and forces his head back as far as it will go. His face burrows in the groove of Dean’s neck. He closes his eyes and waits for the fangs. "Come on, you fucker.” The words grit out between clenched teeth.

It takes a moment, but the stench recedes. Benny’s fingers loosen and are gone. He bends to collect his clothes. “You need a break.”

 

***

 

Benny’s got his back. He’s only drinking for old time’s sake: hasn’t been thirsty since he’s been down here. The water feels good. Cool. It takes his mind off other things.

So what? They haven't fucked since ... whatever that was. Dean has got the involuntary celibacy thing down pat. He's gone weeks at a time without getting any. And while he’d rather not, he can live for a while without getting laid. Topside, all it would take is five minutes with the right website and some Vaseline and he's good to go.

Down here, at night, Dean has been finding quiet corners to take care of himself and trying like fuck not to think about fangs when he comes. That doesn't seem to be a matter of choice anymore.

He'd be standing there jerking like a maniac all fucking night, chafing the hell out of his oversensitive dick, thinking about Lisa, Cassie, fucking Linda Lovelace. The only thing that does it anymore is the thought of fangs piercing his flesh, a low grumble and a hairy ball sack flopping against his. The second he gives in and lets himself think about that, he goes off like Old Faithful.

The worst part? He knows Benny can hear everything he's thinking. Somehow his blood betrays him every time. Benny hasn't explained the mechanics of his little parlor trick, but it never fails. He always knows.

As if to prove it, the vampire mutters, ”I miss you too."

“Fuck you." Dean stands and stomps down the shore.

He would suggest they part ways completely, but it's not expedient and frankly, it's a little bitchy.

In a lot of ways, his head is clearer since they’d knocked it off. Dean is focused on getting the hell out of Purgatory again instead of just making it through the day so he can get plugged all night. This madness would be coming to an end when they get topside, anyway. That can't happen a second too soon. And he hopes Benny hears him thinking that, loud and clear.

Benny is standing where Dean left him, staring at something in the distance with a pointer’s focus. Argument temporarily forgotten, Dean takes his side. He follows the vampire’s gaze, but doesn’t see a damn thing. "Ben."

No response.

"Benny, what the hell is it?" Dean grips his blade in both ready hands, heart rate picking up. He squints and still spots precisely dick. “What the fuck do you see?”

Benny’s cold, blue eyes meet Dean’s. He takes a breath and says, "Your angel."


	6. Chapter 6

Benny has never seen an angel. He hadn’t really believed they existed. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about them since he was a little kid. His grandmother used to sing this hymn:

All night, all day  
Angels watching over me, my lord

Sweet as she made it sound, it hadn’t ever occurred to him that he might hate the bastard instantly.

The moment Dean confirms it’s his celestial companion, there's a sunny spike of exhilaration and joy in his blood that puts Benny’s on a low simmer. Dean runs, shoving past dense brush, chopping at the clinging foliage. Benny sludges behind, kicking a rotten stump out of his way.

The angel crouches by the water, like a bum sifting through trash. He fails to make a shining first impression. In fact, he looks like a lot like hammered shit. All tattered, filthy clothes, unshaven.

“Cas!” Dean calls out.

Benny hears him curb his excitement. Always gotta look so cool. Heart still thudding in his chest, he strides over to the angel and takes him in a solid embrace.

A dense ripple of craving blows off the angel’s vessel the moment he sees Dean, dashing any chance of a camaraderie between the two otherworldly creatures. Castiel’s desire for Dean stinks so loud that Benny’s fangs bare of their own accord.

As the angel hugs him, Dean’s blood flows thick with a low comfort, similar to when he talks about his brother, Sam. Jealousy sparks hot and sharp like a stake in the center of Benny’s chest. The Thing in him growls _‘mine_ ’, and he barely stops himself from ripping the two apart.

Dean steps back, appraising his friend. “I like the peach fuzz.”

Dean actually fucking smiles. Benny wants to rip the tiny hairs out of the angel’s pretty face one by one.

Dean’s spirits are as high as they’ve been since Benny met him, all those months ago. Just when Benny was starting to feel like he knew the man -- like they'd settled into a routine of survival and sex -- here is this new thing being tossed in the mix. Dean glances over his shoulder at his companion/friend/lover/partner/stalker/rapist.

“Want you to meet somebody.”

Loralynn had used those exact same words the first time she introduced Benny to her parents. And maybe this familiarity and jubilation on Dean is his family mode, but there’s no mistaking what’s coming off Castiel: naked want.

The angel’s eyes narrow at Benny, reflecting his mistrust.

Dean may not have supernatural sensitivity, but he has no trouble picking up on the showdown between his new counterpart and old friend. His eyes shoot back and forth between them. “Benny. Cas.”

Benny flicks his chin in the most churlish greeting he can muster. His nose curls up at the angel. “Tell me this, hot wings. Why’d you bail on Dean?”

“He didn’t bail.” Dean flies to the traitor’s rescue, inflaming Benny’s stewing rage even more.

He breathes deep, begging himself to remain calm. “The way I see it, he owes you some backstory.”

“He didn’t bail, all right? He had to have gotten tied up or something. Right?” Dean’s head turns, looking to the angel. “Cas?”

The angel looks right into Dean’s eyes and admits it, “No. He’s right. I ran away.”

“What?” The minute Dean’s blood starts to sing anger and betrayal, Castiel’s echoes humiliation and sorrow.

Benny lightens to the point that he could laugh out loud.

“You telling me, I’m out here dealing with every kind of nasty thing in the book and you turn tail and run?” Dean spits, anger ratcheting up sweetly.

“I was trying to keep them away from you,” Cas speaks with utter, sincere tenderness.

It circulates through Dean and ricochets back to the angel. Benny takes a step forward to come between them and put an end to this.

“Leave me. Please.” The angel lowers his head.

Benny reaches out for Dean’s arm. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s roll.”

The human’s eyes never waver from his friend. It’s as if Benny isn’t even standing there anymore, like he’s faded from the scene entirely. It pushes him to the verge of tears and violence.

“Come on. I need you.”

Something in Benny cracks and he walks away, puts space between them in order to keep himself from ripping out the angel’s throat with his teeth and fucking Dean into the ground.

“…Not leaving here without you. Understand?” The human’s oath trails through the trees after the fleeing vampire.

 

***

 

“You don’t, you know.” Benny hasn’t spoken in hours.

The sound of his voice startles Dean. He looks over at him. “What?”

Benny has been marching in silence, shoulder to his shoulder, riding Dean’s ass like they were already going through the portal now. It actually makes him uneasy. They  
got Castiel and, now, some things are going to have to change.

“Need him. You don’t need the fucking angel. I got you.”

Dean grins. “So, you’re going to be my guardian vampire?”

Benny doesn’t even crack a smile. “I got you.”

“I appreciate that.” He claps the vamp on his shoulder. “And it’s fucking mutual. You know that. Cas is…”

Dean looks back to see what’s keeping the straggling angel. As usual, he’s got nasties jumping out at him left and right. They’re so hot on him, there’s not even time to identify what they are.

Benny shakes his head, “He’s like a magnet.”

“You said the same about me.” Dean watches Cas reach onto the nearest one’s forehead and smite the fuck out of them.

That move always did make him proud.

Benny pokes out his lower lip, reluctantly, but visibly impressed. “I guess he has his selling points.”

When the sun begins to set, Cas looks around nervously. “Dean, you will be compromised at night.”

“You think, Einstein?” Benny grumbles; he's turned into a right surly bitch.

Cas cocks his head like he always does when some perfectly obvious thing someone says does not compute with angel vocabulary.

Dean smacks Benny’s arm. “Lay off.”

“I can create an temporary interference that will defer them from your scent for a while.”

Benny shakes his head like he’s talking to a complete idiot. “Well, why the hell would you wait until now to do that, Tweety?”

“Because I can't keep it up very long. We’ll have a few hours before we need to become mobile again,” Cas grits out between his teeth.

Cas hasn’t exactly been Mr. Sunshine either. Clearly, he’s starting to get fed up with Benny’s endless assortment of bird-related nicknames, although Dean has to admit, a lot of them are pretty funny. ‘Hot wings’ was fucking priceless.

Still, marching with the two of them is starting to be a bigger hassle than dealing with the other creatures. “We’ve been marching for at least a week. Are you sure those assholes gave you the  
right coordinates? Aren't we supposed to have found this thing by now?”

Cas eyeballs Benny suspiciously. He has the distinct look on his face like he believes the vampire is lying. “Where did you get this information?”

Benny curls up his lip in a snarl that almost resembles one of his easy smirks. “I happened to hear about it from some long time residents.”

“And why would they tell you anything of such vital importance?” Cas is practically frothing at the mouth.

Benny sucks his teeth and explains. “We made a deal.”

That is definitely all the details he needs. Dean clears his throat.

“What could you possibly have to offer?” Castiel grunts.

Benny looks at Dean who looks away. He sighs and wipes his face. “Well, this seriously blows.”

“Does it, now?” The vampire's lifts his brow, licking his grinning lips.

Dean pins his own lips together, trying not to smile. Benny rolls his back off the tree and walks away.

Castiel has this constipated look on his face. Dean taps his fingertips against the handle of his blade on the ground beside him. He opens his eyes wide, sniffs loudly, and tries to think of something to say. “So…”

He waits as long as he can, a good five minutes. Finally, he lowers his head, chuckles to himself about his own agitation. He hasn't been this wound up since high school. “Cas, I'll be right back. Don't come ... Just stay here.”

It’s utterly dark, perfectly silent, scary as shit. In his haste, Dean left his weapon by Cas. That was idiotic. He is just about to turn around and get it.

“Boo.”

Meaty fingers wrap around his wrist as Benny drags him up close. He places Dean’s hand over his own so he can feel the vampire stroking himself. “What took ya?”

“I was--”

“Get on your knees.”

Dean’s been catching the whole time and has been starting to think about a little reciprocity. Benny leans close enough to growl hot into his ear, “On your fucking knees, boy. “

He applies a gentle pressure to Dean’s shoulder and if there’s one thing Dean knows how to do, it’s take an order.

The thick head presses to his lips and he’s still not sure of this. The other thing is, well, it’s … it’s more than grown on him. Does that mean he’ll be indulging when he gets topside?

Dean needs to stop thinking about that now. Right now, he’s got bigger fish to fry. A fish that fits snuggly up his asshole, easily in his hand. But in all this time, he hasn’t had the damn thing in his mouth.

He doesn’t actually want a dick in his mouth. Benny smells every bit as dead as he is and there it is: Dean has found his personal limit.

“Open your mouth.”

In spite of himself, Dean’s lips part on auto-pilot. It's enough room for Benny to hook his thumb in between his teeth and wrench his jaw down. With the other hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, he jams all the way in until Dean chokes. He clutches the hairy thighs in front of his face and pushes off, sputtering, “Fuck.”

Benny groans. “Do it again. All the way.”

Dean’s eyes are running like a faucet and he already knows he's no fan of this. He has a whole new respect for chicks who balk at giving head. It sucks -- fuck the pun. Face all full of hard, hot meat, foul-smelling pubes up your nose, tongue depressed and the fucking gagging. Yeah, no thanks.

“Dean.”

He looks up and shakes his head. Dean Winchester is a lot of things; a cocksucker is not one of them.

“Do it and I'll fuck you.”

And the fact that the offer makes him think for a moment means that he is, however, totally on board with having his fudge good and thoroughly packed.

“Come on, Cher.”

“I told you to stop fucking calling me that,” Dean says from his knees, as if he’s the boss of anything right now.

Putting that notion to rest, Benny grips his hair -- which never seems to grow an inch in Purgatory -- and tilts his head back. The vampire leans down to kiss him. “Come on and be a good boy for me.”

He says that shit so softly, Dean’s surprised he even heard it. There’s no reason that should make him hot, but it does. Lights him up like New Year’s. And before you know it, he's choking on a stout dick.

And maybe it ain't so bad, after all. Just takes some getting used to.

He opens his lips wide, leans in, claws at the backs of Benny’s thighs, and strains to take him as deep as he can. He  wants more. Wants to hear it again.

“Good. Oh, that’s good,” Benny moans breathless and takes Dean’s chin in one hand, the back of his skull in the other. He proceeds to fuck Dean’s face thoroughly. “That’s it. Take it … That’s my good fucking boy.”

 

***

 

Dean tends to pass out after he’s been good and roughed up. Even if he only sleeps for an hour, it gives Benny an odd sense of pride to watch over him. He folds his arms across his chest and lets the placid rhythm of Dean’s pulse and the relaxed tingle of his own muscles lull him a bit.

Only now, he’s not the only one watching. Castiel stands a few feet from where Dean is propped against a fallen log. His blade is back in his hand; he rests more soundly that way.

The angel’s breathing is slow and methodical, locked in sync with the napping human. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his longing. Benny can smell the arousal oozing off of him like booze off the town drunk. He wouldn't be surprised if the angel’s vessel doesn’t have a nice, feathered boner right now. If the rush of his blood gets much more intense, the motherfucker will be drooling.

“If I remember correctly from Sunday school, idolatry is a sin.”

The angel’s eyes never leave Dean. “As are murder and jealousy. I've committed my share of both already today.”

“Jealousy?”

“I confess to a certain … envy about the relationship you seem to have developed with Dean.” His voice is low and gruff. He actually sounds like he’s trying to impersonate Dean.

It would be funny if it didn’t burrow and itch under Benny’s skin. He keeps it together for Dean’s sake. The last thing a real-boy needs is infighting among his imaginary friends. “What can I say? I’m a friendly guy, and so is Dean.”

“He is usually a very guarded individual. It’s clear you two share some sort of … bond. You seem to have penetrated his barriers.”

Benny can’t help but smile at that apt choice of words. “You should tell him that.”

“I don't think he would appreciate the observation. A lot of things I say only upset him.” The angel peers up with an air of helplessness.

“No, no. Trust me. Say what you just said. Use those exact words. He’ll love it.”

Castiel shakes his head, obviously aware that there’s something he’s missing. “In any case, justice is being served.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The angel pauses for a moment, then, explains, “I believe you are meant to be my castigation.”

“Speak English, wingman.”

“Dean’s attachment. His … affection- ” he spits the word out like the syllables slice his tongue. “-for you. It’s part of my punishment. It has to be.”

At that, Castiel tucks his chin to his chest like a bird hiding its head beneath its wing. Maybe under very different circumstances Benny could have felt sorry for the guy. He certainly doesn’t believe that God orchestrated this whole thing with him and Dean as some kind of elaborate personal Hell for one broken-down looking angel. That seems like a lot of involvement from a Holy Trinity who usually can’t even be bothered to bring a poor kid a decent meal.

Still, Benny has to agree with Castiel on one thing: Dean’s attention is like manna. It’s like this miraculous gift from heaven falling into the upturned palms of a starving man.

He shudders to imagine how it must sting for that favor to run dry. Or to stand there, unquenched, wanting him. He actually pities the bastard.

Benny stands shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, Angel of the Lord. They both sigh quietly, so as not to wake Dean.

 

***

 

“What is the angel to you?” Benny is trudging five inches behind him.

Dean stops in his tracks at that question. “Seriously?”

“Very seriously.”

Dean searches over his shoulder. Castiel has fallen pretty far behind them this time. Dean knows that he can fend for himself, but it’s become a habit to check, after what happened when they first landed in Purgatory. He doesn’t move his feet again until Castiel comes into view, smiting his way towards them. “Same as you. A friend. And I look out for my friends.”

“And that's it?”

Dean turns up his nose. “What is this? An interrogation? All right. You know what? Look. I been meaning to say this … This thing.”

Benny waits.

Dean has been meaning to say it, but he hasn’t said it, because he doesn’t know how. He inhales. “We, uh … when we got topside. You and me, we … we go our separate ways.”

He hasn’t said it before, because he knew it was going to fucking sting just saying it. Not to mention thinking about it. The thought of it makes him almost as uneasy as the thought of it going on like this.

That’s not even an option. Not in any way.

Benny is looking at him hard, eyes intense and cold. He’s breathing loudly through his nose.

“All right? Good talk.” Dean lifts his blade and keeps marching.

Keeps fighting, keeps moving, until one day, it finally happens.

A leaf levitates in front of Dean as if to designate him the Chosen One. Then, it's tugged on the wind up and into a shimmering blue vortex at the edge of a cliff. It’s a two-hundred foot climb straight up, but it’s there, clear as daylight in the desert.

Benny claps his shoulder. “Time for the big I do, Pinoke.”

Dean cuts his eyes. He looks to see if Cas heard or understood it. Cas is, dutifully, looking out for trouble. Dean shakes his head, discouraging that kind of talk from Benny.

Benny purses his lips and rolls up his sleeve. “Putting a lot of trust in you.”

Dean nods. That’s more like it. More like the kind of thing a war buddy says to his brother-in-arms. “You earned it.”

Dean slices both of their arms.

When Benny smiles, it’s like ice. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

They clasp arms and lock eyes. It’s part of the spell. Eye contact is required and maybe it’s usual to feel this spike of heat when you’re about to literally become one with the guy across from you.

It’s like a flame curling over all of him, like he’s tied to a stake and well on his way to being fricasseed for heresy or treason or something far worse. It’s got him boiling from the inside out -- even hotter than when he’s being pawed at or rimmed or drilled within inches of his life by this very man.

And Dean is just standing there, with his hand tight around Benny’s forearm, the open wounds on their skin touching, blood blending. The Seam is waiting for them, pulsing and shimmering and threatening to close any moment. There’s only one thing to do. It’s not exactly difficult. He’s done it a hundred times before.

Dean speaks the words and takes Benny into himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Passing through the Seam between Purgatory and Earth is bit like having your soul plunged out through your navel. Dean stumbles out of a brilliant white haze into total darkness. Just enough light from the crescent moon for him to tell that he’s surrounded by towering pines.

 _'Dean?'_ Benny’s voice is closer than if he were whispering right into Dean’s ear.

Only it’s between his them, booming loud and clear. Still, Dean covers his ears with his hands, as if that could help silence a voice in his head. “Jesus. Why are you screaming?”

 _'You can hear me?'_ It’s whispered now, but still unpleasantly broadcasting from within Dean’s skull.

“Can you, please, just shut up?” Dean takes a single step forward and swoons.

Nostrils wide, blinking, he gives himself a moment to recover from the vicious vertigo. With a determined shake to clear his head, he charges forward.

_'So, you can.'_

“Benny. Shut your fucking mouth.”

' _I don’t have a mouth. Well, I have your mouth, don’t I?'_

Without meaning to, Dean touches his own lips. Reclaiming control, he curls his hand into a fist. “Knock that off!”

_'God, I always loved your mouth.'_

“Benny, if you don’t shut up, I swear. I’m gonna--”

 _'What? You gonna smack yourself?'_ The voice in his head cackles.

“You undead piece of…” All at once, Dean’s mouth snaps shuts.

He grips the handle of his blade in both hands and cautiously approaches the tent. A kid pops out; he’s no more than twenty and shaking like a leaf as he raises his palms sky high. Dean shows him the business side of his weapon, anyway. He doesn’t back down when a girl slides out of the tent and clasps onto her boyfriend.

 _'That’s a little girl. You need to calm the fuck down, soldier,'_ Benny scolds.

 _‘You need to shut the fuck up.’_ Dean snaps back within his own mind, still holding his blade on the boy and the girl with the Dorothy Gale braids.

Tracking time has been a moot point for so long that Dean doesn’t even bother trying to figure out how long it takes him to get to the road. It’s just after dawn when his boots hit pavement. He tosses the backpack he nabbed from those kids onto his shoulder and sticks out a thumb.

There’s not much traffic on a two lane highway that runs through the middle of nowhere, but the cars that pass are moving slowly enough for Dean to see the horrified looks on their faces. He looks down to discover that he's drenched in blood and gore. He quickly shrugs out of his jacket. “Shit.”

 _'Yeah. You look like you murdered somebody.'_ Benny laughs. _'And their mama.'_

“What’s it going to take, Ben?”

_'I’m supposed to just not say anything?'_

“That would be amazing.”

Slowly, as if Dean is taunting himself, his middle finger starts to unfurl and rise to his own face. He rolls eyes at the offending hand. “Knock it off.”

 _'Or?'_ Benny says it with that infernal smile thick on the voice in Dean’s head.

“I’ll dump your ass on the side of the road. I mean it.”

_'Fine. Grumpy.'_

Dean curls and uncurls his fingers, making sure he has full control again. Then, he begins to rummage through the bag. It doesn’t take long to figure out that he’s got Judy Garland’s knapsack. He has plundered a shit load of girl’s clothes, a couple of Snickers, some tampons and a book about Traveling Pants. “Awesome.”

At least there are a couple of granola bars and water bottles in here, too. He guzzles one on the spot, using a handful to wash his face. He starts to drink the other bottle but winds up staring at it.

 _'Hey. You want to take it easy with that,'_ Benny warns.

“Fuck you.” Dean has another drink to spite Benny before he caps and drops the bottle into the bag.

_'Of course, I’m right. When am I not right? I just got us out of Purgatory, didn’t I?'_

“Yeah, you did. But we’re in my territory now. So shut up.” Dean reaches up and zips his own lips. “Stop doing that. You do not move my body in any way, got it? You are a fucking passenger.”

_'Whatever you say, boss.'_

 

***

 

Dean sighs down at the way-too-tight, light purple, knit sweater. He tugs at the bottom but it rides up again as soon as he lets it go. “I look ridiculous.”

 _'I assure you, you do not.'_ Arousal drips thick off Benny’s voice like sap oozing down a maple tree.

“You can’t even see me.”

_'I can see you as well as you can. Ridiculous is not the word I would use.'_

Dean looks down at himself and shakes his head in exasperation. “Nobody is going to pick me up looking like this.”

_'I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.'_

It doesn’t take another five minutes before a sixteen wheeler comes to a screeching halt a few yards ahead, kicking up dust and gravel. Dean picks up the bag and jogs up to hop into the cabin. “Hey, thanks, man.”

It’s immediately obvious by the way he leers, that this dude didn’t stop out of the kindness of his heart. Dean hesitates at the open door.

 _'Get in the fucking truck.'_ Benny growls.

Dean's hands grip the metal, but his chest surges forward of it’s own accord. “You fucker,” he grumbles between his teeth.

“What?” The truck driver scrunches up his scraggly face.

“Nothing. Thanks for stopping.”

"No, thank you.”

 _'I think he likes you.'_ Benny would be smirking like a maniac if he had his own fucking face. Instead, he’s inside of Dean’s head, which is not better.

Dean takes a deep breath and wills himself to relax.

_'That’s it. Just take it easy.'_

The sound of Benny’s voice riles his nerves even worse.

_'Sorry. I’ll shut up.'_

“Thank you.”

The driver peers over with an eyebrow raised before he says. “You’re welcome. So, where you heading, pretty?”

Dean’s nostrils flare and he pulls the backpack from the floor onto his lap to better cover himself while Benny howls, _'Yeah, pretty. Where_ you _heading?'_

Dean rolls his lips together, composure rapidly fraying.

 _'Be nice.'_ Benny chuckles.

“Cat got your tongue, honey?”

Dean shakes his head and figures what the hell. “Louisiana, to scatter some ashes.”

 _'Asshole.'_ Benny replies.

The guy keeps peeking over at Dean with this slimy simper that he really wants to knock right off that stupid face. He considers telling the guy to keep his beady fucking eyes to himself before he loses them.

_'Don’t say it.'_

Dean sucks on his tongue and diverts his attention out of the passenger window. Eventually, his eyes flutter shut. He hasn’t been topside for more than six hours, but his body is starting to remember that it needs sleep. His eyes pop open again, immediately, when a hand lands on his thigh.

_'Don't do it.'_

Dean gawks down at the hairy fingers on his leg.

_'Dean. There’s a shit load of traffic.'_

Dean swipes his hand down his face and manages a forced smile at the driver. “Why don't you pull over so we can do this right?”

The guy doesn’t even bother waiting to find a truck stop. His turn signal clicks and he maneuvers right over onto the shoulder. He switches off the ignition and twists his body so he can show Dean his full greasy grin.

' _He’s not too bad-looking._ ' Benny chuckles.

The driver reaches for Dean. “Come here, gorgeous.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean shouts and slams the guy’s face against his steering wheel.

_'Aw. Spoilsport.'_

Dean opens the passenger door and then hesitates. He draws back the curtains between the seats and climbs into the back where he finds a couple of shirts and a jacket. He leaves the little girl’s sweater for this fucker, since he seems to like it so much.

The trucker stirs and Dean gives him a fresh blow to the jaw on his way out of the cabin. “Creep.”

 

***

 

It’s been a full 24 hours and Dean has only gotten as far as New Hampshire with Benny yapping non-stop in his head and slowly driving him insane - and occasionally making him look like it when he talks back out loud.

He wanders around a parking lot, looking for southern tags, when he sees a woman holding a baby on her hip, frowning into the hood of a Ford Focus. A pair of twins chase each other around the car while a pre-teen leans on the passenger’s door with her face buried in a cell phone. Dean can’t help thinking of this nursery rhyme he must have heard from his mother.

'What is that thing?'

Dean looks, eyebrow raised. “You want to be more specific?”

_'In her hand. The girl?'_

“Oh. That is called a cellular phone?”

 _'Phone?_ Where’s _the cables?'_

Dean chuckles. “Told you a lot had changed, man.”

_'But no flying cars?'_

“Not that much.”

Mother Hubbard doesn't look any happier as Dean is walking by, so he stops and gives her a small nod. “Mind if I take a look?”

She steps aside. “It just gave up the ghost.”

_'What a knight.'_

Dean ignores Benny and checks out the engine. Lucky lady. It turns out to be a disconnected spark plug. An easy, no tools fix.

“Oh, my goodness. Thank you!”

“No problem at all.” If Dean had a six gallon hat, he’d tip it as he’s strolling away.

'She’s got Maryland tags, Dean. Why don’t you ask for a ride?'

“Because that’s not why I did it,” he answers under his breath.

_'There’s such a thing as too much chivalry.'_

“Um, Sir?” The woman bounds up next to him. Her kid is drooling all over itself. “I saw you asking for a ride earlier. Which way are you going?”

Dean’s eyes grow wide as he watches the dribble grow longer and thinner.

_'You’re scared of kids.'_

‘I’m not scared of them. She’s got her hands full,’ Dean replies silently.

_'They’re not going to bite you.'_

“Sir?” The woman waves her hand in front of his glazed eyes.

Dean shakes his head clear. “Uh. Due south”

“We can get you as far as Baltimore.”

“Oh, that’s -- ”

The word comes out of his mouth, although Dean didn’t think or say it, “Outstanding.”

He curses Benny and follows her back to her car. The adolescent looks him over and sucks her braces. “Where’s he supposed to sit?”

“Jonah is going on Judah’s lap and you’re going in the back so this gentleman can sit in the front.”

“Why do I have to sit in the back for this guy?” The girl rolls her eyes at Dean.

_'That would have earned me a slap in my day.'_

Dean chuckles. “You don’t. I’m happy to sit in the back, if that’s all right with you, ma’am.” He scratches his forehead, takes a deep breath against the swooning feeling in his head.

 _'You oughtta eat that second grain cake.'_ Benny advises.

‘It’s called a granola bar.’

_'Don’t matter what it’s called. You need to eat it.'_

Dean nods. He scarfs down the last of his food while the woman, who had introduced herself as Brenda, takes her kids to the toilet. Once they’re on the road, Dean leans his head back and closes his eyes.

The good thing about sitting in the back seat is that Brenda gives up trying to talk to him once she’s gotten his ‘scatter ashes in the Bayou’ story and sleep takes him quick.

The first thing Dean sees, once his eyes close, is Cas’ face falling from that cliff. It ties his guts up and makes him stir fitfully.

 _'Stop it.'_ Benny’s voice booms like the word of God in his head, ripping him from sleep. _'You did what you could.'_

“Shut up,” Dean murmurs and his eyes open.

The whole family is staring at him, unblinking. So, apparently, he did say that out loud. Brenda turns and gives him a sheepish smile. “Everything okay, Dean?”

“Sorry ... Just…” He huffs and thinks to himself, _‘Leave me alone, Benny.’_

This time, when Dean drifts off, he finds himself in a perfectly white room standing a few feet away from Benny. They're both dressed in pristine, three-piece, white suits.

Benny’s hand falls on his shoulder. His eyes are so blue, it's startling. They had always seemed so dull and lifeless, like everything else, in Purgatory. "Hey. I know this ain't easy."

“Shut up,” Dean grouses, but leans into Benny’s touch.

The fingers grip a little more tightly. "So, what the hell is this place?"

“I have no idea.” Dean looks around and shrugs. “White Room?”

There are black curtains in front of a window that Dean is sure would reveal a station if he were to pull them back. He has a chuckle that his mind has deposited him into a Cream song.

"Is this supposed to mean something, because, I don’t get it."

In the blink of an eye, they are standing on black sand beside a sea as blue as Benny’s eyes. Both of them are in swim trunks. Dean has never been anywhere like this in real life, but it’s a fantasy he never talks about. “Better?”

Benny really is a hairy fuck. Dean reaches out and tugs a handful of his fur.

'Ow. You little shit!' The stouter man laughs and strokes a finger down the center of Dean’s chest.

Dean jerks a thumb toward the crystal clear water. “You want to swim?”

'Nah. This ain’t really my scene either.'

Dean shrugs. “All right, then.”

'May I?' Benny lifts his brow.

“Go for it.”

Another blink and they're standing, fully dressed in their usual attire, in a dense forest on a moonless night. The Spanish moss hangs shadow-thin from the trees like something in a child’s worst nightmare. Unfamiliar hoots shatter the silence.

“Is that monkeys?”

Benny laughs. 'Loons. And frogs. No monkeys.'

Dean takes a look around. “What is this?”

'Place I know.'

Dean starts to complain as Benny takes his hand.

'Hey. If there's anywhere to do it…'

“Topside, Benny.” Dean still hasn’t pulled away.

'In your fucking dreams, Dean. Literally.' The vampire chuckles.

“I don’t dream about holding your fucking hand.”

'Yet, here we are.' Benny raises their entwined hands and plants a kiss on Dean’s knuckles.

“But this is your dream.”

'I’d say, it’s both of ours.'

“All right. This has gotten girly enough.” Dean tries to reclaim his hand.

Benny clenches it tighter. 'Why don’t you let yourself relax?'

Dean watches Benny suck his pointer finger into his mouth until a spark ignites in his chest. He licks his lips. 'Only in here. Once you're out…'

“Yeah, I got it the first time.”

Dean lets Benny hold his hand even though he hasn’t done that with anyone since he was a little kid. At least, he assumes he did it then. He has no recollection of ever doing it. Thankfully, Lisa wasn’t into that kind of sappy shit. Cassie had been, but only in private. Dean had always met her halfway by tossing the hand she reached for over her shoulder. Holding hands is intimate in a way that makes Dean’s skin crawl. Benny is no exception to that rule.

'You need to fucking relax, kid.' Benny pulls him up close, slides his tongue into Dean’s mouth and proceeds to massage his soft palette. Within a matter of seconds, Dean melts into the vampire’s strong hands. Benny strokes down his sides. 'There. Ain’t that better?'

Dean blinks down into his face. It is better, but he’ll never admit it.

Benny rocks them slowly, as if there’s some music playing that Dean can’t hear. 'You ever had anything like this?'

“You mean with a guy?”

Benny nods and nuzzles his cheek.

"I told you before I hadn’t."

'Figured you were lying, although, I guess I would have smelled that on you.' Benny murmurs low in his ear. He takes Dean’s face between his palms and kisses him sweetly, tugging at his bottom lip with his human teeth.

Dean squirms a little in Benny’s grip. "Why would I lie?"

Benny gives him another sweet peck on the lips and lets him go. 'Well, you took to it like a fish to water.'

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Benny kicks through the dirt, searching for something.

A moment passes, then Dean steers the conversation back. “I take it you have.”

'You take it right.' Benny stops, peering down at his feet, apparently having found the spot.

Instead of an X, he is standing over a cross made of flat, white stones, largely covered over by grass. 'Tommy Chamberlain. Colored kid I grew up with.'

“Whoa! Okay," Dean says. "History lesson. We don't say that anymore. When you get out, don't call anybody ‘colored’, for Christ sakes.”

Benny looks up, blinks. 'Well, what do you say?'

“African American?”

Benny turns up his nose. 'That’s a lot of syllables.'

“Yeah, well. Unless you’re looking for some unwanted attention…”

'How about negro?'

Dean slaps his forehead and hangs his head. “Jesus.”

He opens his eyes wide when the floor beneath his feet begins to vibrate. The thundering is accompanied by a bellowing so loud that he reaches for a weapon. Slowly, he relaxes and looks around at the dark-skinned, singing faces of the people around him. The small, wooden building they’re in jumps like a train station with the stomping of feet. Benny is beside him clapping and singing along. They're both dressed in simple brown suits and have hats in their laps.

It’s humid as fuck. Dean puts the paper fan in his hand to work, but all it does is push the wet, hot air around his sweaty face.

Benny smiles, elbows him and juts his chin to gesture Dean to check out the portly, blond kid at the front of the crowd. He's flapping his arms like a chicken being chased and cutting a rug along with the best of the overweight, middle aged women doing the same move.

Shouts of “Halleluja” and “Praise Him” join with other variations on that theme. Benny says, 'Amen.'

The white kid turns around and a smile dawns on Dean’s face. “That’s you.”

Benny nods and then laughs.

As the ramshackle house of worship empties, Dean and Benny watch the people exit and disperse. The plump, white kid stops right in front of Benny and stares up into his face. He’s around thirteen with the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen. Neither the adult or the young version says anything.

A black boy, about the same age as young Benny, steps up next to him and looks up. The vampire stops breathing. His hand twitches as it starts to raise.

“Come on, Bean.” The black kid taps young Benny -- Bean -- on the chest and turns to walk away. As they go, Bean’s friend asks, “Who’s that?”

“I ‘on’t know.” Bean shrugs.

His friend scowls back over his shoulder. “He kin to you?”

“Not that I know.”

Dean turns to Benny, who watches the kids walk off with his mouth parted like there about a thousand words on the tip of his tied up tongue. Dean raises his brow and asks, “Bean?”

The vampire finally looks at him and chuckles. 'It’s called irony.'

“Why didn’t you say something? To yourself. Or Tommy. It’s a dream, right? You can do what you want.”

Benny shrugs and sighs. 'Ain’t no point.'

 

***

 

Bean carries the steel bucket. His best friend, Tommy Chamberlain, pretends to be fencing with a three pronged garden fork as they walk, shirtless with rolled up pants, down a dirt road. Dean is this close to whistling the theme song from Andy Griffith.

The boys strip down to their underwear and stand at the edge of the thick, dark water. Bean dives in head first and emerges with something black wriggling in his fist. Tommy comes up empty handed. “What you got?”

“Crawdad.” Bean drops it into his pail where it scrambles noisily.

Within a couple of hours, Tommy has given up. He lounges on the pebbles by the creek. His wiry body is propped up on knobby elbows as he watches Bean make a final deposit: a turtle bigger than a man’s fist. He stares down at his catch with his hands on his doughy middle.

“Anything your granmere won’t stew up?”

“I don’t reckon there is.” Bean laughs and a glob of mud splats against his cheek. “That was a mistake.” He speaks with a perfectly straight face before taking off after the other boy.

Tommy howls and scrambles to his feet. He runs like mad and easily outpaces the pudgy kid. Bean stops after a few minutes to pant with his hands rested on his knees.

“Where you at?” Tommy's voice taunts him from among the twisted trees.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout it.” Bean’s sapphire-clear eyes narrow in the direction of the voice.

Bean doesn’t walk that way, though. He makes a wide arch, moving slowly, careful not to rustle any leaves. His patience is incredible, but it pays off. Ten minutes later, he pounces on Tommy’s back, knocking the skinny kid to his knees. He tries to climb to his feet, but Bean is heavier and has an elbow crooked around his neck. Tommy doesn’t bother to struggle long. Once he is perfectly still and surrendered, Bean leans down and asks, “You gonna do it?”

“I'on’ want to.”

“Yeah, you do.” Bean lets him go with a little shove and starts to peel down his under pants.

Tommy sits back on his ankles and watches. Bean strokes himself and licks his lips. “Come on.”

Tommy cocks his head to the side. “What if I don’t?”

“Then, I’ll beat your frail ass.”

The boy on his knees rests a hand on each of Bean’s beefy thighs to steady himself while his friend shoves his short cock into his mouth. Tommy backs off to catch his breath. Then, he nods.

Dean turns his face away from them. “I wouldn’t dream about this. What are they, thirteen?”

“I was twelve,” Benny answers without diverting his eyes.

Ninety seconds later, give or take, Bean is gasping for air, slouched over Tommy’s back.

Tommy peers up into his eyes. “Good?”

Bean nods and slumps to the ground. Staring up at the canopy, he lifts his hips and pulls up his drawers. Tommy settles next to him, with his back propped against a tree trunk. Bean scoots over and rests his head on his friend’s lap.

“We should go.”

Bean smiles like he’s heard this one a hundred times. “New York?”

“Yeah. Or even DC. Somewhere else.” Tommy’s long fingers push Bean’s fair hair back from his forehead.

“You really think that’s gonna make any difference?” Bean nips at Tommy’s ribs.

The boy pushes him away. “Ida said they got all kinds a people up there. Both of us workin’, we could get a place. You know … just…”

“How the hell does Ida know?” Bean pokes him in the chest. 

Tommy flicks his hand away. “She knows, all right. You just don’t know because ain’t nobody in your family been to college.”

“College ain't New York, Tommy. Your sister don't know shit.” Bean jams his finger right into Tommy’s navel.

Tommy catches and wraps his whole hand around Bean’s finger. “Think about it. What if we could be somewhere nobody knows you? They don’t know me. Some place nobody calls you Bean. You can be Benjamin or Ben. Whatever you want.”

“You think I should go as Ben?” Bean stares up at the leaves again.

“I like Benny, myself. Tommy and Benny.” He tucks his chin to his chest.

Bean touches the tip of Tommy's nose. “Benny. Sounds like a little kid.”

“Sounds nice.”

“What if I don't want to be nice?” Benny reaches for Tommy’s hand and places it back on his own head.

Tommy plucks him. “You can't help it. You always gonna be sweet as can be.”

Bean is silent for a little while, letting the boy caress him. He gazes up into Tommy’s eyes, gnashing his teeth. Then, he shakes his head. “You know like I know, you ain’t never leavin’ Carencro and I ain’t neither.”

“Watch me.” The boy purses his lips.

Bean’s eyes fall shut and Tommy watches him sleep, stroking his hair, humming at first and then singing a soft _‘Fais Do Do’_.

Dean turns to Benny who is still rapt in the scene. “Did this really happen?”

Benny nods, never taking his eyes from the kids.

“Looks like your wife wasn’t the only one who ever loved you.”

Benny chuckles, but it’s humorless.

When Bean finally opens his eyes again, Tommy smiles. The chubby boy sits up. The mud on his skin shows up much more clearly than on his friend’s. “We ought to get back.”

The sun has already begun to set. Bean stands and offers Tommy his hand, but the dark-skinned boy frowns up at him.

“What?" Bean asks, "You want me to say I’m goin’ to New York? Fine. I’ll go to New York with you. As soon as I got New York money. Right now, ain’t neither one of us even got Biloxi money and I’m starting to wish you would quit talkin’ shit.”

Tommy’s eyes narrow and he takes a deep breath. “It ain’t that. Asshole.”

“Then, what?”

The kid looks away. “Why don’t you ever do me?”

Bean glares back with a serious expression that he can’t sustain. The smile splits his face open wide. “I just been waitin’ for you to ask.”

The pudgy boy is sprawled on his belly in the dirt with his arms wrapped around Tommy’s waist, trying to drag his friend’s thin hips even closer to his face. Tommy’s head drops back, mouth open wide, fingers of both hands lost in Bean’s filthy hair.

Dean dutifully watches the strained look on Benny's face instead of leering at the boys.

He doesn’t even hear them approach, so it’s no wonder that the kids are shocked when a band of five men step out of the shadows and peer down at them. “Damn, Pierre, look like your nephew is a little cocksucker.”

Another man cackles, “How that nigger dick taste, boy?”

Bean and Tommy have scrambled away from each other. One of the men grabs Bean by his hair, drags him aside and knocks his skull against a tree. The boy collapses to the ground and the man kicks him in the face. Dean gawks at Benny’s stony indifference as he watches his younger self being beaten to a pulp by a grown man with an obvious temper problem. “You don’t want to do something about this?”

Benny doesn't move. Dream or no dream, Dean shakes his head and starts to leave their cover to intervene. Benny catches his arm.

The man stomps on Bean's chest and his soft belly until the boy is weeping and trying to cover himself with his hands. He curls up like an armadillo, letting the blows fall on him and curses assail him. The final blow is a kick to the jaw that knocks the boy out cold. The man, his uncle, trudges away.

'There wasn’t a thing I could do.' Benny’s voice is only slightly louder than the wind and the loons and frogs.

In an instant, all of the men are gone. It’s dark. There’s only this fat, dirty boy laying in a heap in the middle of the forest.

“Where’s Tommy?” Dean searches, but can’t find any trace of the other kid.

Bean stirs and uses a tree to help himself stand up on wobbly legs. “Tommy?”

Gripping his bloodied head in both hands, he leans forward and throws up all over the roots, splashing himself. He spits and tries again, this time through a rasped voice. “Tommy?!”

“Where the fuck is he, Benny?” Dean searches, too, whisper-shouting. “Tommy? Hey, kid!”

Benny doesn’t move.

Bean freezes. Dean looks at him and then, follows his gaze. “Fuck.”

The boy yells and runs full tilt towards the shadow dangling from a limb. He wails and hugs Tommy’s calves, trying to lift him and release the pressure from his twisted neck. “No no no no no no no! Tommy, no, please. I got you. I got you. ”

Dean clenches his jaw against his welling tears as the kid tries to save his dead friend. Suddenly, the dark limbs on the hanging body fade to fair. They’re every bit as long and gangly, but pale and easier to see in the slivers of moonlight that pierce the canopy. Dean looks up at the face and Tommy has become Sam.

Dean’s eyes pop wide, he gasps for air and clutches at the door handle, very nearly yanking it open.

“Dean?” Brenda glances back to check on him.

Somehow, he chokes out, “I’m okay.”

‘Jesus, Benny,’ Dean thinks, striving to bring his breathing under control. ‘Why the hell did you show me that?’

_‘I want you to know me.’_

“Fuck,” Dean mutters the word under his breath.

The preteen glances at her mother, apparently to see if he’s going to get in trouble.

“Sorry.”

 _‘So, you and Sam?’_ Benny asks.

‘Me and Sam what? No. No. Nothing like that.’ Dean exhales loudly. ‘Maybe I… I love him too much. I’ve always... Practically raised him, you know.’ He wipes a tear from his face with his palm. ‘Next time, you think you can warn me… God damn it.’

Dean looks down at his tented crotch and pins his knees together. ‘What the fuck is this? Now? After… Jesus.’

_‘I want you. I want you to touch yourself.’_

‘Jesus Fuck, Benny. Give me a break. It’s like a fucking roller coaster with you.’

_‘Touch yourself, Dean.’_

Dean’s hand lands in his lap, of its own accord. He curls the fingers tight to keep them from cupping his hard-on.

“There are fucking children in here,” he grinds out between his teeth.

The smallest child is staring right at him. Dean forces a fake smile.

_‘He can’t be more than a year. He doesn’t give a shit.’_

The twins are older and stacked on top of each other. The one on bottom is asleep, drooling on Dean’s shoulder.

‘Benny, I’m not going to jerk off next to a bunch of little kids.’

_‘Suit yourself.’_

There is a tingle in Dean’s prostate that makes him pant and roll his eyes. ‘What the fuck are you…’

The buzz grows into a pulse.

“Gah—” The sound just spills out of Dean’s mouth as his hips rise, ever so slightly from the seat.

Brenda frowns, turns back. “Are you okay? Do we need to pull over?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just … You know what. Yes. Maybe, we do. If you don’t mind. You can drop me at the next gas station.” Dean clutches the door handle, failing to steady his breathing.

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“Just don’t kill us,” Brenda’s daughter mutters in the passenger seat.

Her mother nudges her leg and smiles back at him, failing to conceal the fact that she’s thinking the same thing.

Dean stumbles to the bathroom with his backpack in front of his crotch. He barely makes it into the stall before he is clawing at his own jeans, pulling them down around his ass and stroking himself hard and fast. “There. You fucking happy?”

_‘I want you to come. Come for me. Come now, Dean. Now.’_

“You fucking asshole,” Dean shouts and obeys.

 _‘That’s good. That’s a good boy.’_ Benny’s voice is a growl in Dean’s skull.

Shuddering, Dean leans against the door for a few minutes. “Fuck."

When he opens it, there is a middle aged man in a business suit standing there with his pants hanging open. His eyes flicker to Dean’s crotch. “Can I—?”

“Fuck off.”

Dean washes his hands, splashes cold water on his face and wanders back out to the parking lot. It’s no shock that Brenda and her brood are gone.


	8. Chapter 8

A VW van with California plates slows in front of Dean. The driver looks a little like the guy from The Doors and the smoke billowing out of his window is not incense. “Where you heading?”

“Louisiana.”

“I can’t get you that far, man. Maybe Tennessee.” The driver gestures with his left arm for the honking traffic to drive around him.

Dean smiles. “That would be amazing.”

Jim Morrison grins back -- a bright smile that crinkles the skin beside his nose in a strangely familiar way. He leans over to unlock the passenger door.

For a while, the two only exchange their names. Dave's long fingers tap the steering wheel in time to the rhythmless music that Dean assumes is some kind of jazz. It could also be from space. He has no idea.

The first one to speak up is Dean’s stomach. It lets out a long, low wail. Dave looks over with his brow raised. “Dude. You hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

“‘Cause I got, like, all kinds of shit in there.” Dave jerks a thumb at a big, steel cooler just behind the passenger’s seat. “You can help yourself to anything, man.”

There’s a neatly made mattress, tiny kitchen area, and even a bookshelf in the back. “Quite a little love nest you got going back there.”

Dave snickers. “You could call it that.”

“You work on it yourself?” Dean asks, noticing that telltale grime beneath Dave's fingernails.

Dave looks at Dean like he just uttered a curse. “Wouldn’t trust my baby to anybody else.”

Dean’s stomach growls again and he wipes a hand down his face. He takes another look at the cooler. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just… have a look.”

“All homemade by me or one of my housemates. Don’t fuck with fast food or restaurant mush or anything non-organic. Ideally, I like to grow my own, but that doesn’t really work when you’re on the road, right?” Dave chuckles, as if he’d told a joke.

Dean selects a small brown square wrapped in paper. “You want anything?”

“Nah. I’m good, man. Grab yourself a drink, too, while you’re at it.”

Since he’s partaking, Dean grabs himself a drink. When he settles back into the passenger’s seat, Dave smiles over. “Oh yeah, man. Those are outstanding.”

Dean has a swig of the beverage, first. He nearly gags and lets the bitter drink dribble back into the mouth of the bottle.

Dave nods. “Kombucha. Fucking awesome, right?”

“Yeah. Awesome.” Dean peels open and has a bite of the square thing, in order to clear the nasty taste from his mouth. He hums his approval at the baked good.

“Twelve-grain peyote cake.”

“No shit,” Dean says, mid-chew of his last bite.

Dave shakes his head. “I’m fucking with you, man.”

“Funny. That’s real funny.”

“There is a little ganj in it, though.”

Dean chuckles. “I figured as much.”

It doesn’t take long for Dave to launch into elaborate conspiracy theories about everything from municipal water to bicycle helmets. Dean listens, because as a hiker, it’s his responsibility. But, also, the guy’s arguments sound pretty scientific and definitely amusing. Benny grumbles quietly every so often, but mostly, Dean’s body is loose, his mind is at ease. He leans his head back against the seat, a content smile over his face.

Dave looks over. “Let me guess. You seem like one of those guys who doubts the existence of life on other planets.”

Dean smiles slowly. “True.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?

Dean covers his giggling mouth with his fist.

Dave cuts his eyes at him. “Doesn’t matter what you believe. They exist. So do aliens. And actually, ET is more plausible than ghosts. With extra-terrestrials, you’re talking about measurable matter, living beings like us on other planets. Considering the size of the universe, it’s actually implausible that it doesn’t exit. But with ghosts, we’re talking about planes of existence that are entirely undiscovered and undocumented outside of religious tomes.”

Dean looks at Dave, long and hard. “You think about this a lot?”

“Wrote my doctoral thesis on it.”

“In what field?”

“Paranormal studies.”

Dean’s mouth nearly falls open. “That’s a thing?”

“Not everywhere.” Dave smirks over at him.

Without his permission, Dean’s hand turns up the radio.

Dave chuckles. “Okay. Guess we’re over that topic.”

Dean sighs darkly and thinks to himself. ‘I told you not to fucking move my body.’

 _‘I don’t want to hear another word out of this nitwit,’_ Benny grouses back.

‘Well, you don’t have to be rude.’

Dave taps his fingers, bops his head, hair falling out of his scrunchy and swinging wildly while he sings along to a saxophone solo. Dean watches him, a laugh swelling up out of him.

The heel of Dean’s hand jams against the knob, killing the music. Dave blinks over at Dean who shakes his head. “Sorry, man. I guess I don’t like jazz.”

“No problem.” Dave points to the glove compartment.

Dean pops it and checks out the jumbled pile of tapes. It’s such an eclectic mix, he can’t help poke out his lower lip and huff. Impressed.

 _‘You think he's cute, don't ya?’_ Benny's voice grumbles in Dean's head.

‘What?’ Dean snaps back silently.

 _‘You do. You want to fuck him. You want to crawl back into the love nest and teach him the Purgatory_ two step _.’_

‘I do not want to —‘

_‘I'm in your head, Dean. I know what you want. You like this guy. Why don’t you go ahead and admit that to yourself?’_

Dean looks at Dave. He’s a long haired hippy. Even if Dean was into guys, which is a very big if…

 _‘Admit you want him.’_ Benny is growling now.

Dave is smart and serious about stupid stuff. He’s a huge dork with long, dark hair tied up in a man-bun, which looks completely ridiculous. His limbs are long and lean, shoulders broad. He probably has a few inches on Dean and … it all adds up to something he refuses to look at.

But now that Benny won’t stop mentioning it, Dean can't ignore the fact that the guy has grown on him crazy quick. He scratches the back of his neck and glances over at the driver again. Dave looks back and smiles. His long lashes flutter as he turns back to the road.

Dean turns away quickly and takes a deep breath as a warmth eases down his body and comes to rest in his crotch.

_‘See? My only question is whether you see yourself pitching or catching.’_

“That doesn't mean I…”

Dave looks over with a puzzled look on his face. So, Dean is officially talking to himself out loud, now.

 _‘So this is your type?’_ Benny asks.

‘This is bullshit.’

 _‘Is it?’_ Benny’s voice is quiet, but he won’t let up.

‘I'm not fucking any guy.’ Dean insists.

_‘No, you're just going to think about it.’_

‘I've already decided. That's not ... it's not who I am. It’s not my thing.’ Dean argues silently, leaning his forehead on his fist.

_‘You were sure singing a different tune a few days ago.’_

‘Purgatory was … It was different. There was a … purity. It was life and death and ... you, okay? It ain't like that up here.’

 _‘It could be.’_ Benny murmurs. _'It could be like that.'_

‘What are you saying?’

_‘I’m saying … when I get out…’_

Dean leans forward and takes his head in both hands. ’Fuck, Benny. We talked about this.’

_‘You talked about it.’_

“Hey. You all right, Dean?” Dave’s hand lands on his shoulder.

Dean shoves him away. “Don’t you fucking touch him.” He winces and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Just … I … tired.”

“You want to go lay down?” Dave nods towards the mattress.

Benny snarls. ‘ _You better not fucking go back there.’_

“Think I’ll nod off right here.” ‘Fuck you, Benny.’ Dean tucks his chin to his chest and closes his eyes. ‘I cannot wait until you get the fuck out of me.’

 

***

 

Without expressly agreeing to it, Dean doesn’t say another word to Dave, and Benny keeps his trap shut.

Standing beside the van, Dave’s stupid looking ponytail is a thing of the past. The wind whips his hair around his face and he uses one hand on his forehead to keep himself from looking like Cousin It. “Hey, look, man. You sure I didn’t piss you off somehow? I just kind of get this feeling…”

“Nah, you’re cool. Thanks for the ride. And for these…” Dean drops the cupcakes Dave gave him into his backpack.

“Anytime. Hey, bring it in here.” Dave draws Dean into a bear hug, and he is a few inches taller, chest and arms firm, maybe from all that garden work.

Benny causes Dean's arms to shove the guy onto his ass on the pavement. Dave laughs. “Whoa. Okay. No hugs.”

“I’m sorry. I…” Dean shakes his head and bites his lip. ‘Benny! Goddam it.’ He reaches out to offer the guy a hand standing up.

Dave accepts the help and dusts himself off. “No problem. I guess I’m a little touchy feely, huh?”

“You’re fine, man.” Dean sighs.

Dave chuckles. “Well, good luck with the ashes.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. Good luck with the aliens.”

“You know what…” Dave digs into the back pocket of his baggy jeans and produces a wallet from which he draws a business card. “In case you ever need an expert in the paranormal. Not likely, right?” Dave flashes a million dollar smiles, they shake hands and part ways.

“David Crenshaw,” Dean reads the name out loud.

Dave honks his horn and waves. As the van turns out of the gas station parking lot, Benny compels Dean to put the card into his mouth. Only when he’s finished chewing and swallowing, does Dean shake his head. “You're a real asshole, you know that?”

 

***

 

Dean has enjoyed twenty-four hours of sweet radio silence from Benny when he steps into the bar. This kind of place is about as close to home as Dean gets. He takes in a whiff of alcohol, sweat, cheap perfumes, and greasy food. A smile spreads over his face like butter on hot toast. He strides into the place like he owns it.

Dean has already decided which sucker to hustle and which waitress to bone before he’s taken five long strides. He ignores the low growl behind his eyes and eases up to the counter. With a knock on the wood, he orders whiskey, drinks it fast, and turns around to survey his marks. The guy is a little older than Dean. He’s telling bad jokes, laughing twice as loud as is necessary, taking up too much space. His friends egg him on and he plays it up.

The girl is a little younger, with long dark hair. She rolls her eyes and smacks a hand from her ass. The rude customer calls her a bitch and she gives him the finger. Dean can’t help but chuckle.

_‘Pay and leave.’_

Dean ignores Benny’s command.

The girl places her tray on the counter beside him and Dean grins. “Hey.”

Her eyes narrow like she’s studying his face for just the right angle to land her slap. Dean chuckles and clears his throat.

“Something funny?” There isn’t a trace of humor on her pretty face.

“No. Just...” Dean cocks his head, just so and looks right into her eyes. “This is obviously not you.”

She blinks, features already visibly softening.

“You don’t belong in this place.”

 

***

 

Dean steps out of Carla's bathroom with a towel slung low around his waist. He dries his hair with another one.

 _‘Get out of here.’_ Benny has become a persistent, low growl in the dead center of Dean’s skull.

Dean has ignored him all night and he is resolved to go right on doing it. Just like he had been slammed with a need to eat and sleep, Dean needs to get laid. Could it wait until Benny is out? Sure, technically, but Dean also needs to make this point, to Benny as much as to himself.

_‘Dean. I’m telling you.’_

Carla waits for him on the bed, all done up in a blue, lace teddy. She looks like an all you can eat buffet. Dean tosses the one towel to the floor and unfurls the other one. She smiles her approval.

Dean's next step forward feels like walking on the bottom of the ocean. He has to actively resist Benny’s will holding him back, moving like Frankenstein. Carla laughs out loud. So, Dean pretends it’s intentional. He holds out his hands and groans like a monster.

In his mind, he shouts. ‘So, you’re okay with me fucking that trucker, but not this beautiful girl?’

_‘I knew you weren’t going to let that scumbag touch you.’_

‘Fuck you, Benny.’

The second step, he overdoes the resistance and nearly stumbles forward. She shakes her head and covers her laughter with her hand before she reaches out to him. “What are you doing? Come here, you weirdo.”

Dean takes a breath, thinks, ‘Fuck. You.’

He splits the difference, applying just the right amount of willpower to continue stalking to the bed. He kneels on the foot of the mattress and her legs open like the doors of a chapel.

Dean grits his teeth against the buzzing in his head. He rests his arms on either side of her shoulders and leans down to suck her bottom lip into his mouth. He reaches down to grip himself tight as he slides into her, slow and smooth. Dean closes his eyes to savor that soft, wet warmth.

When he opens them again, his hands are wrapped around her throat. Brown eyes bulge wide, pink mouth gaping but eerily silent. Her hands pry uselessly at his wrists. Dean tries to let go, but he can't. Instead, he is squeezing, pressing against her larynx with his thumbs.

‘Benny, stop it. Fucking stop it, man.’

The growling in Dean’s head gets louder and louder until he thinks his skull is going to explode. Then, he realizes, his own mouth is making the sound.

‘Don’t fucking do this. I’ll leave, all right? Just … fucking … don’t make me hurt her.’

Dean’s fingers uncurl slowly, joints cracking as he releases the girl. “I’m sorry.”

She slugs him once and scrambles from the bed. Dean flops onto his back, catching his breath. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her digging something from her purse. When she starts to dial, he hops up from the bed, snatches it away and confirms with a glance at the screen that she had dialed 911. “I can’t let you do that.”

She darts across the room and retrieves a handgun from the top drawer of her dresser. Dean throws up his hands. “You don’t want to—“

“Get out!” She holds it in both trembling hands, elbows locked, has obviously never fired a gun in her life.

Dean doesn’t need to be there to witness the first time. “Look. I’m going to just—“

“OUT!”

He stoops to grab his clothes. She had promised to put them through the wash. “Can I just…”

She cocks the gun. Maybe Dean was wrong about that never having shot thing.

The bolts click shut on the other side of the door as Dean quickly dresses in the hallway. He shrugs into his shirt when an old Asian lady opens her door and peers out at him from under a head full of pink rollers. He ducks down the hall, out of the front door and bolts in the opposite direction of the approaching sirens. Hunkers down behind a dumpster, breathing hard. He stares down at the hands that nearly choked the life out of an innocent girl and balls his right hand into a fist and summons every ounce of will.

 _‘What are you doing?’_ Benny's voice is panicked.

“You get in there and stay, you bastard.”

_‘You can’t contain my entire essence in a fucking arm, Dean.’_

Dean winces, clenches his fingers until the nails cut into the heel of his hand. He rubs the forearm. “You stay there or I swear to God I’ll dump you in the next ditch.”

 _‘Dean, this is … Fuck. This is impossible,’_ Benny groans.

Dean shakes out the pain and pressure in his arm. “Yeah, well, this is how it’s going to be. We made a deal. I’m going to keep my end if I feel like I can trust you not to be a menace.”

“I’m not a fucking … You are creating this problem. I told you. You can’t just … Look, this is what it is to be a vampire. No self control. All instincts and impulses.” Dean speaks the words out loud, in a trembling voice that sounds like a southern born version of himself.

Dean replies, “I can't let you out if I don't know you can control yourself.”

“Usually, I can,” Benny answers through Dean’s mouth. “Usually, it ain’t no problem at all. I did it for half a century. But this Thing … The dark side of me, it thinks that it owns you. You might say it has taken a long, hot piss on you. So, if you don’t want to upset it, I suggest you not fuck everything in sight.”

“Yeah, well, you and that ‘Thing' can kiss my ass. You’re turning me into fucking Gollum. I’m going to say it one more time, Benny. You stay in the arm and you stay cool. Or else I’m done with this. Got it?”


	9. Chapter 9

Back in his own skin, Benny remains by his grave until dawn to be sure that he doesn’t follow Dean. He flexes his fingers and toes, pulls at the hairs on his arm. It’s strange. He doesn’t feel like he ever died. It’s hard to believe this body was a heap of bones a few short hours ago.

He hoofs it to the road and sticks out his newly rejuvenated thumb.

“Which way you headed?”

Benny has no destination, so he picks a cardinal direction at random. “North.”

He does that for three days straight until he finds himself walking up a dirt road in a tiny town called Whitefish, Missouri. By now, he knows. He’s known it since the second day, that what had seemed to be random decisions were all calibrated and calculated by instinct as old as these mountains.

So, he stands outside of the cabin, eyes closed, breathing in Dean’s scent along with a similar, yet different human odor. Long time ago, before he’d kicked the habit, Benny had treated himself to twins. Dean and his brother don’t smell quite that alike, but there is a commonality in the rush of their blood that is more than fraternal, even despite the tension he can sense on them both.

When night has fallen deep, and the Winchester's pulses have slowed to a steady crawl, Benny eases into the cabin with natural stealth. The place is simply furnished: only a pair of plush chairs and a television in the living room. The boys share a room with twin beds.

Benny frowns over Dean’s sleeping brother for a long time. This man is Dean’s favorite thing on earth. He's the one person Dean had talked about every single day in Purgatory. It would be so easy to end him. Then, that position - of Dean’s favorite thing - would be open. All that unflinching, unconditional love would be available for the taking.

Benny draws down Sam’s collar with one finger. His fangs slide loose, and he bites the man, only briefly without taking a drink. He adminsters a small dose of his venom and slinks beside the other bed. Dean’s dreams stir up that familiar sweet aroma of arousal and adrenaline. Benny could drink him and leave. He could even make it so that Dean never knows. Benny contemplates stalking this man like a shadow and drinking from him every night for the rest of his life. It might satiate the beast, but it’s not what Benny wants. And he refuses to be a slave to that Thing’s whims ever again.

Dean’s dreams stir up that familiar sweet aroma of arousal and adrenaline. Benny could drink him and leave. He could even make it so that Dean never knows. Benny contemplates stalking this man like a shadow and drinking from him every night for the rest of his life. It might satiate the beast, but it’s not what Benny wants. And he refuses to be a slave to that Thing’s whims ever again.

It takes less than a minute before green eyes pop open. Dean sits bolt upright in bed. Voice sleep-rough and low, he calls out, “Sam?”

Benny’s eyes narrow. “You honestly think I'd hurt your little brother?”

“I think there's no way he didn't hear you come in. Sammy?” Dean starts to get out of bed.

Benny blocks the way with his body. “He's fine, Dean.”

Dean shoves him back and climbs to his feet. He taps his brother’s shoulders, gently at first and then, shakes him. Dean stands, back stiff, empty hands curled into fists. “What the hell’d you do to him?”

“He's gonna rest a little while. You and me need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” Dean’s blood thrums with aggression.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Benny takes a seat on the edge of Dean’s mattress.

Dean, of course, stands there with his arms folded over his chest. “You know, this ain’t cool - you going all Edward Cullen on me.”

The hairs on Benny’s neck raise. “Who the hell is Edward Cullen? You telling me I got some ass whoopin' to do?”

Dean wants to stay mad, but he chuckles, like Benny had just told some joke. “Why are you here, man?”

“You know why I'm here. You were dreaming about me, weren't you?”

“No.”

Benny raises a brow and waits for the truth.

Dean shakes his head. “I hate when you do that. I wasn't holding your fucking hand, okay?”

“Why don't you show me what were you doing?”

Dean glances over at Sam.

“Little brother is dreaming about kittens.”

“No shit.”

Benny shrugs. “I don't know what the hell he’s dreaming out ... Something he likes.”

“The girl,” Dean says darkly, blood running cooler.

“That bother you?”

“No.” He lies.

“Yeah, it does.”

It takes a moment for Dean to concede. “He didn't look for me, Benny. Just threw in the towel. Over some girl. Sometimes I swear I don't even know him. Like I told you, I practically fucking raised him, so it must have been something I did wrong?”

Benny peels Dean’s hands down from his chest and pulls him, slowly, towards the bed. “You raised him to be his own man. That's something to be proud of.”

“Yeah. Except I can’t even trust him.”

The bitter twinge of heartbreak on Dean’s blood sends an urge of protection to Benny’s core. He looks between the brothers. Benny so desperately wants to take this pain from Dean. Every fiber of his being longs to become Dean’s everything again.

“What?” Dean snaps his fingers between Benny’s eyes to get his attention.

“Maybe we ought to change the subject.” Benny tugs Dean’s sweats down.

“Benny.” Dean protests, even as he kicks out of them.

Benny peels off the human’s t-shirt and tosses it aside. He wipes his mouth and folds his arms, not allowing himself to touch this beautiful thing before him - not yet. “Turn around.”

Dean obeys.

“Bend over.”

Dean glances over his shoulder. Looking for Sam. Sam Sam Sam

Benny stands and grabs the back of Dean’s neck. He swings the man around and forces him to kneel on the bed. Now, Dean peers back at him, mouth open, eyes pleading.

“Look at him.”

“What?” He grimaces.

“Baby brother. I want you to look at him while I fuck you.”

“Benny, what the --”

Benny grabs Dean’s wrists and brings his arms out from under him so that he topples to his chest.

“Don’t fucking move.” Benny opens his pants, slides them down, just enough. “Look at your brother.”

Dean buries his face in the mattress. Benny pulls on his hair and drags his head into position, so he is facing Sam. Dean whimpers, but doesn’t move.

Benny kneads his shoulders. “Relax.”

The knuckles of one hand massages the notches between Dean’s vertebrae while the other fingers slide firmly between Dean’s ribs until he lets out a long sigh. “That feel good?”

Dean nods slightly.

“Good.” Benny alternates drawing stripes down Dean’s back with his fingertips and the backs of his nails. He does that for a good long time until Dean is practically buzzing.

Then, he takes one ass cheek in each hand and lowers his face almost between them. He wets his lips and spits loudly onto Dean’s asshole. The man jumps and sucks in a swift gulp of air. Benny squeezes a cheek and gives it a sharp smack. “You like that?”

“Can you be quiet?” Dean asks, breathlessly.

“What do you think he’d do? Lil’ Sammy, huh? You think he’ll want a turn? Give you something to cry about? Or is it the other way around? Did you always want to stick it in your little brother? Make him your bitch.” Benny presses his thumb past that stubborn ring of muscle and into the welcoming warmth.

Dean’s fingers clutch the covers while he moans like a whore.

“Which is it, huh? What do you want from him, Dean?” Benny clasps his dirty hand over Dean’s gaping mouth: not to keep him quiet, but because Dean fucking loves it.

It makes him louder, and that makes Benny crazy.

He drives into Dean so slow it’s torture for the both of them. But those garbled, anguished cries are music. He wraps his other hand around Dean’s throat and pulls him up slightly. It’s enough so he can see Sam, sleeping peacefully with a hint of a smile on his pretty face.

“What would he do if he could see us? Your Sammy?”

The surge in Dean’s blood when Benny says his brother’s name is an explosion of anger and want. Benny lowers his head over Dean’s shoulder and sinks in his fangs. He would never have believed it was possible, but Dean tastes sweeter now than he ever has before. He drinks deeply, swallowing long greedy pulls before he forces himself to stop. “Your sweet sweet Sam.”

There it is again, that shot of pure sugar in his veins.

In all his lives, Benny has never felt anything so good as the way Dean clenches around him. He’s shuddering beneath his hands and coming already. He cries out, sobbing like a child in pain as Benny snaps his hips a few times more and chases him over the edge.

Benny drops himself onto Dean’s back and kisses his neck. Dean’s breath is already steadying. Benny is no featherweight. He rolls aside and pulls his pants up. He walks around and steps between the beds. Peering down at Sam and then back to Dean, Benny says, “He’s pretty, isn’t he? Not a lot of family resemblance. On the surface. He smells like you, though. Smells good.”

He takes Sam’s chin into his hand and turns his face from one side to the other to get a better look. “Yeah. Real pretty. I like the hair.”

“Don’t,” Dean protests, too well-fucked and anemic to move.

Benny smiles and gives Sam a condescending smack just as Dean passes out. His fangs slide free, and he sneers down. It would be so easy.

He lowers his face, retracts his fangs and merely laps his tongue over the wounds he had made before until they begin to close. Tomorrow, Sam Winchester will have one bitch of a headache, but no other indication of having been bitten.

As much as Benny wants to leave his marks on Dean like he used to in Purgatory, he knows it will only piss the human off up here. He turns to Dean’s bed and gives him the same treatment until the skin on his shoulder is smooth and flawless again.

Benny unzips the duffel at the foot of Sam’s bed. He thumbs through his wallet first: takes out his driver’s license and examines it. For no good reason, just curious. Thirty. Hm. He’s got a little cash and a picture that must be of his family. The little baby must have been Sam, which makes the goofy looking pre-schooler Dean.

Benny smiles and puts it back. He rifles through some more and discovers a leather bound journal. He flips through the first few pages and looks back up at Sam. The guy is a fastidious note taker. There’s information about spooky shit Benny’s never even heard of in here.

If Benny is looking for a reason to hate the guy, he doesn’t have to look any further than the bed beside him. But Benny doesn’t want to hate Sam. He wants to understand the man. He wants to know what Dean loves so much about him. Benny wouldn’t mind if Sam at least liked and accepted him. They could all be family. Hell, everybody needs a nest. More than anything, though, Benny wants what Sam has: Dean’s undivided affection.

Benny strips out of every last stitch of clothing and crawls into the bed with Dean. It is a tight squeeze, but with Dean’s head on his chest and a leg draped over his, it works. He lays there, listening to that symphony he adores and tries to imagine what Dean must be dreaming.

A few hours later, Dean’s eyelids flutter against Benny’s chest. His gums smack dryly. Benny reaches over to the bedside table and hands Dean the glass of water he had readied for this moment. “Gotta be careful. You’re a lot more fragile up here.”

Dean accepts it and drains the glass. He gives it to Benny to put back. Then, he lays his head on Benny’s chest and lets him absentmindedly stroke his shoulder.

“I don’t want my brother.”

“Okay.” No point in arguing. “Is there something else?” He asks, sensing Dean’s urgency and apprehension.

It’s a few more minutes before Dean spits it out. “You remind me of my father.”

“Now, there's an interesting thing to say to the man who just pulled his dick out of your ass,” Benny smirks.

Dean sighs like he's too tired to argue or laugh. He just murmurs, “I don't know what it is, but you do.”

“Your daddy ever--”

“No.” Even if it’s not true, Dean believes it. No change in his pulse.

“You ever wanted him to?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Why do I get the feeling like you, maybe, didn’t have the most healthy childhood?”

“I already told you about my childhood… It's not that I wanted... you know what? Fuck this.” Dean starts to roll over.

Benny locks him in place with an arm around his waist. “Tell me.”

“I wanted to take care of him. Whatever he needed, you know? Mostly, he needed my mom.”

Benny strokes his side, “So did little brother.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice is thin.

“So did you.”

“I don't know what I needed. But I apparently didn’t get it because here I am, talking emotion shit with a fucking vampire.” Dean shoves Benny’s arm away and sits up, wiping his face with both hands.”

“That's what I am to you? A vampire?”

“It's what you are.” Dean stands and pulls on his sweats.

Benny scratches his eyebrow. “I could be your vampire.”

Dean peers over his shoulder at him.

“If you wanted that, I could ... help you find this kid you’re looking for. Kevin. I’m a better tracker than you or little brother. I can be whatever you need.” Benny’s body trembles, the Thing chiding him for this show of weakness.

Dean shakes, then, lowers his head.

“While you’re trying so hard to care of everybody else, you ever think there might be someone who needs to take care of you?”

“You already are my..." Dean takes a breath and shifts his weight on his feet. “You’re my problem. I brought you back up here, and it’s up to me to make sure you tow the line.”

Benny nods. “So, that’s it?”

“That’s how it’s gotta be.” Dean spits the words at the ground.

Sam stirs, barely moves, just lets out a little sigh. Dean gathers Benny’s clothes in one arm and practically shoves him from the room and to the front door.

While Benny hastily dresses, Dean scribbles something onto a small piece of paper. He stuffs it into Benny’s breast pocket. “Don’t do this shit again.” He opens the door and pushes Benny out of it. “If you absolutely need something, you call me. Got it?”


	10. Chapter 10

Benny adjusts the rear view mirror and tosses his hat onto the passenger’s seat. “All right. Buckle up back there.”

He double checks the address and turns the key in the ignition. A glanced tossed over his shoulder at his passenger, and he’s off.

The rumble and hum of the road beneath his tires have always been a lullaby to Benny. For some people, the sea has that calming effect, but he had sailed for years with Andrea. That was all right, but it’ll always be the road for him. When Benny drives, he unwinds. When he gets loose, he yacks.

So it’s no wonder that he spills his guts to his fares. Every time. It helps to keep the memories fresh in his mind. He tells them every detail he can remember about Purgatory, starting with all the gory shit - the blood and stink and death. He talks about looking a man in the eye as you plunge in your blade. Watching the life fade out of him.

Anybody who’s survived a war zone can tell you the catharsis of getting that shit out in the open. When you’ve done this level of evil, you need to bleed it clean. Or else it festers.

But what Benny vents about the most is Dean. His passenger ain’t going nowhere, so Benny spills. He talks about everything from Dean’s clothes to his hair, the sound of his voice when he’s yelling and when he’s moaning. The smattering of freckles on his nose.

“And his eyes. You wouldn't believe these eyes if you saw ‘em yourself.” Benny peers in the rearview mirror once more before he takes a turn. “Not just the color either. The expressiveness. Just layers and layers of him to try and peel back. Enough to keep a man busy for a few lifetimes.”

Benny chuckles to himself. Lifetimes, he’s got. Dean’s life, however, is wasting away, day by day. Every day Benny spends here driving folks around is another day he’s not where Dean is. That thought it is starting to wear him thin. It grates on him to the point that he spends most nights with the window open, eyes closed, scenting out which direction he’d need to go. But Dean had asked him point blank, so Benny stays put. And he begs, pleads with the fates for some miracle to draw Dean back to him.

Benny doesn’t want to go to Dean. But he needs to. Sometimes so bad, his body shakes with it. Particularly in the dark hours, when it’s still, and he’s waiting for another day to mean more monotony. He needs Dean’s voice low in his ear, cries for the vibration of his skin alive beneath Benny’s fingers, weeps for that pulse against his tongue. Not desire, necessity.

He has survived on his own for a month: gotten a job, a little place. Some days, when he folds a dollar into a homeless guy’s cup, he wonders what Tommy would make of this city. Between shifts, he imagines Dean fighting nasty things out in the middle of the country, with his Sammy at his side.

Benny doesn’t miss the fray - never loved to fight like Dean does. What he misses is Dean’s hand on his shoulder, that reassuring tap. ‘I’m here. I got you.’

“Hey, buddy. Watch it.” A cabbie leans out of his window and flips him the bird.

Benny returns the favor and pulls the car beneath the arches to the Peaceful Gardens. There is so much more he'd wanted to tell his passenger: the swell of Dean’s ass, the strength in his hands.

He’ll have to unload it on the next traveler. The back door opens, and Benny climbs out of the driver’s seat to watch the pallbearers draw out the coffin from the back of his Hearst.

 

***

 

All is in order with the world. Sam is where he belongs: riding shotgun. Kevin’s safe in the backseat. Everything’s as it should be. Dean keeps telling himself that, over and over. The words loop through his head like a mantra, until he almost believes it.

As he’s pulling into a gas station outside of Springfield, Illinois, his phone rings. It’s an unknown caller, but in case somebody needs them he answers, “Hello?”

“Hey.” Benny makes the word last like he’s working a sustain pedal.

His voice is same as it ever was: molasses in June.

For a moment, Dean’s insides bunch up and flutter, but he fucking well will not allow it. He clamps down on that shit and responds like a goddamned man. “No, thanks. Not interested.”

 

***

 

This isn’t a matter of choice; Benny had to do something. He couldn’t waste any more of Dean’s life, so he had taken matters into his own hands.

Even now, as the blows fall, Benny knows it’s the right decision. Dean will come and redeem him, or his former nestmates will put him back in the ground. Either way, the torture of a purposeless life will be over.

Sorento still fights like a savage. His blade gashes from Benny’s shoulder to his hip - a fatal wound, for any creature. Benny smiles at the pain and the flicker of confusion on his former brother’s face. Sorento snarls, “You should have stayed dead.”

Benny falls forward on his knees and one hand. The other arm grips his middle, holding in what would otherwise spill hot and wet all over the pavement. He’s seen that enough not to want to die in a pile of his own entrails. He spits - a thick wad of blood on the asphalt.

Just like that, Sorento is gone, right along with the rest of them. They don’t even have the decency to kill him. They leave him to end slow, in agony. Benny groans and lurches his lacerated body until he’s sitting with his legs extended, back propped against a wall.

Dean picks up after the second ring this time.

“You know how you said emergency?” Benny draws in a pained breath. “I could use a little backup.”

“Where the hell are you?”

Benny manages the answer before the phone drops from his hand.

As the evening light fades over the wharf, Benny’s mind takes him back to the cemetery. He had leaned against that tree, trying to make himself feel cool. Dean answered his phone, “Hello.”

A surge of heat had pierced Benny’s chest at the sound of that voice. It had been at that moment, with just that word, that he knew he needed to ditch the stiffs and make Dean take him back, at whatever cost.

Benny whispered. “Hey.”

Nothing for a few seconds. “No thanks. Not interested,” was Dean’s reply and then, more silence.

This after they had been together for nearly a year. They had been each other’s entire world for most of that time. Benny had been inside of the man’s body for Christ’s sake, in his mind. He had shared parts of himself that no one else will ever knows. Death was better than life without Dean.

Benny had glared down at his phone. He could feel the world spinning, hear every bird screech, the scrape of squirrel claws against bark, the sniveling whining cries of a widow at a gravesite.

His nostrils had flared, chest heaved. The donated blood in his veins ran like fire and ice. His tongue traced his fangs as his head lowered. Predator. Wounded, but ready to lash out and make his pain known to the world. The Thing in him leaped at Benny’s desire to inflict it.

This Thing that makes Benny what he is - it’s a parasite that uses its host's desires and feelings to feed itself, to keep itself alive. Benny had been able to cage it within himself for so long. But now, since Dean, emotions run so high, rip him so ragged, all bets are off. It makes Benny wonder how much tenderness and atrocity he'd be capable of if he were still merely a man.

But he’s not a man. He's a thing.

All of his keen senses centered on the field of mourners. First, he would sever the widow’s head from her shoulders - stupid bitch with her fake, overloud sobs. Benny read her. There was not an ounce of sincerity in her wailing. The others he would maim, hurt, harm, but leave alive to suffer.

Instinct narrowed his eyes on the one to drain: a little girl of about 11. She wasn't crying out loud. Her brown eyes were wide and unblinking as the priest prattled on about ashes and dust. Inside, she was gutted and broken, like Benny.

He would let her run for a while. Catching her would be child’s play. She’d stop to rest behind a tree, heart pounding out her location, clear as a signal flare. She would dare to peek out. They always do. Benny would be there, waiting.

He would take the little thing in his arms, swipe the sweat and rabbit-brown hair from her forehead. His poison would numb her first. Then Benny would devour her slowly. He would have a long, languid drink of her sorrow and emptiness and the savory fear brought on by just a few minutes of fleeing.

Enraputred by the gentleness and cruelty of his plan, he flinched slightly when the phone rang. Dean’s number blinked on the little screen. Benny slowed his breath, tried to focus on it. He glanced at the crowd of people he had been preparing to massacre. The Thing urged him to dash the device against the ground. Benny took another deep breath, blew it out between trembling lips. He stared at that name. Dean.

Dean was calling.

Within another three rings, Benny was clear headed enough to pretend calm. The words came out as a sigh. “There he is.”

Could Dean hear the tension on him? It didn’t matter. Benny had him. Even if it was across a thousand miles, through telephone wires. Or however phones work these days anymore. Benny had him.

For two minutes and thirteen seconds. That was the length of their conversation. Benny had replayed the words in his mind. Again, Dean had said, “If you have an emergency, call me.”

To Benny, at first, that had been code for - ‘if you think you’re going to lose it and attack a bunch of kiddies at a playground, let me know.’ If it ever came down to it, Benny would let the man break him. He would kneel and accept his fate as easily as Dean had gone to his knees.

He doesn’t fear the heat of Dean’s wrath. What he longs for is the warmth of Dean’s compassion. The more Benny thought about it, the more he realized that Dean had practically begged for this. They can’t be together like normal people because that’s not what they are. They're a vampire and a hunter brought together by pain and fear.

No matter how Benny longs for kisses over coffee in a quiet cottage with basil in the garden, that isn’t a daydream Dean Winchester can let himself have. At least not right now.

For now, this is the only way. It will have to work or else Benny will die. Dean had said emergency. Benny is in crisis. His eyes rake over the phone as consciousness slips from his grip.

 

***

 

There's no way Dean could have gotten here this quick without a helicopter. He must have been driving like a bat out of Hell. Out of purgatory. Benny smiles. He hurts like fuck, everywhere, but he can’t stop smiling.

Dean had ditched Sam and Kevin and everything. And here he is, forcing himself to walk - not run. Dean kneels, so close Benny can almost taste him.

“Not looking good,” he says.

Benny chuckles. He’s heard that one before. Purgatory humor. “Up yours.” He spits out a glob of gunk.

“I got you some AB neg out in the car. I know that's what you like.”

It’s sweet that Dean remembered, but the fact is Benny has taken things too far. 'Last leg' is an understatement.

Dean tucks himself under Benny’s arm and helps him to his feet. He’s warm with concern. Their eyes meet. Benny licks his lip, breath ragged. A little scent of that luscious dread hits as Dean shakes his head. “No. No more. Last time was the last time.”

Those words and the apprehension in Dean’s blood are all Benny needs to hear. His fangs spring. He takes Dean by the throat and shoves his back against the wall.

“God damn it, Benny.” Dean rasps, pulling at his wrist. “I said no.”

Benny rips back Dean’s collar and sinks in his fangs. He pins one of Dean’s wrist to the brick and uses his other hand to open Dean’s belt.

“Fuck, no.” Dean fights and claws at his face.

The voices of the workers on the dock send a fresh spike of terror through Dean’s system. The thought of being caught getting fucked mortifies him. Benny growls at the foul ripeness of it. He yanks down Dean’s pants and his own.

“Benny, please. Don’t do this.”

That desperation would have been enough to stop Benny. In fact, Benny would have stopped a long time ago. Hell, once upon a time, Benny would have asked nicely, to begin with. But that guy has been dead for over a century.

That guy watches from behind his own eyes, but it ain’t Benny at the helm. This is instinct and evolution - an ancient will to survive.

Panting, the non-human part of himself flips Dean around. It mashes his face against the wall. It holds both of Dean’s hands up. His grasping fingernails scrape against the brick. Benny’s dick doesn’t require much guidance. It knows the way home. It slides into Dean’s crack and knocks right at the door.

Dean’s voice and his blood are thick with desire and rage. “God.”

“Nope. Still just me.” The Thing uses Benny’s voice to growl the tired joke.

The workers outside shout instructions. Dean sobs with elation and panic - flavors Benny can gorge on until he's fat as a tick. He sinks in his fangs again. Holding the base of his cock, he drives into Dean’s tight heat.

The hunter squeezes his eyes shut, grits his teeth, but keeps his screams inside. The idea that someone would see them keeps him silent.

Benny fucks him fast and dry. Torment and ecstasy and over in a few furious minutes. He comes, hard, growling, like the not-human thing he is. It would never have stopped. It’s still clawing at the inside of Benny’s mind, urging him to fuck Dean, drain him, finish him as Benny backs away and rights his clothes.

Dean remains against the wall, head bowed, breathing heavily. His pants are still around his ankles. Nothing romantic about a ripped, bloody asshole.

Benny already feels his own wounds starting to heal. He arches his back, draws in his fangs. There are footsteps just on the outside of the door. He tucks his hand under Dean’s arm. “Hey. Come on. Someone’s coming.”

Dean tenses: sated, ashamed, livid. Benny backs away.

“You needed that?” Dean murmurs.

“Yes, I did,” Benny answers truthfully.

It was what he had needed to survive: the fear and anguish on his blood. The fuck ratcheted up the cocktail of emotions. But there is more that Benny needs. Things he's already asked for and been denied.

Dean nods, eyes on the ground, heartrate calming.

 

***

 

Benny hasn’t said much. Probably thinks that Dean is mad. And he had been - fucking pissed. But he knows if Benny had some magic healing potion in him, that he wouldn’t withhold or hold a grudge if Dean helped himself to it.

Anyway, the silence is driving him batty. Usually, Dean hates to talk while he’s riding. With Benny, he doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself. “How's it? Being back?”

He rolls his eyes and curses himself for the stupid question.

“It’s weird,” Benny answers quietly.

Dean knows what he means. And he was only gone a year, not fifty. “What you listening to these days?”

Benny looks over at him like he’s crazy. “Well, I heard Cher. Can’t say I’m a big fan.”

Dean laughs. “She used to be pretty hot actually. You ever hear of The Who?”

“Who?”

“Yeah.”

“What?” It’s cute as hell when Benny scrunches up his nose like that.

Dean chuckles. He has the urge to stifle it, but then he looks at Benny again. Dean turns on the stereo, heart beating overtime. He knows Benny can hear it and he doesn’t fucking care.

The tape is in the player, cued up to this song because Dean listened to it while he was flying down the road to get here. He listens to it whenever he thinks of Benny, especially when he's riding alone.

The cassette is warped because he plays it so damn much. He’d been thinking of getting a CD player. Those apparently don’t wear out. Sam would never let him live that down, though, even if the egghead never knew the reason.

The song comes on, and for a moment Dean pretends he's a teenager: no responsibilities, no world to save. Not that he's ever been that kind of teenager. But he'd seen them in movies. He’d walked side by side with them in high school hallways, wondering about them like they were a different species.

He knew they went parking in secluded places and never once worried about winding up werewolf chow. He'd wondered what it would be like to let his guard down like that.

Dean could do that, for the next hour or so. Just him and this ... so what, it's a guy? What difference does that make? He'd never been this tied up and twisted over Cassie or Lisa. Not even by Anna, and she was a fucking angel. When it was time to leave them, he left. Dean never seems to be able to put Benny down. Not all the way.

But there would always be Sam. And the family biz and everything Dean is. He's gone at it a thousand times from a million angles, and there's no way to do this thing with Benny. Not for long anyway. Certainly not forever.

But now is now. Dean plays the fucking song and doesn't flinch when Benny takes his hand.  
In another universe, where everything is different, maybe Dean could have this for good.

 

***

 

Benny had sailed around the world on a yacht with every imaginable creature comfort. This is better.

Dean’s Baby grumble-purring beneath his ass. Dust flying in his eyes through the open window. Night air hot as a furnace, ‘cause the goddamn AC is busted. Stereo blaring some moody tune. This right here is perfection.

This hand in his hand. These fingers interlaced with his. And for a moment, nothing to run from, nothing to kill. Just music and heat and yeah. This is just about the best thing Benny has ever had.

He doesn’t dare spoil it by asking for a kiss or taking one. He hardly dares to breathe for fear he'll break it. A moment like this is more fragile than spun glass. It’s a bubble of time blown thin and shimmering around them.

Dean’s face is smooth. His blood runs easy for a change. There’s no tension anywhere on him. He smiles when Benny kisses the back of his hand. He sings along to the music, a little tuneless, but perfect. He looks over, meets Benny’s eyes on the only lyrics Benny cares to remember. The line he will never forget:

My love is vengeance, that's never free

At the very end of the song, full harmonies sing out legato, “Behind Blue Eyes.”

That’s when it dawns on Benny that this has been Dean's version of a radio dedication. His mouth twitches up on one end - a smile that threatens to melt into tears. His heart swells up so big, it might beat out of his chest. He manages to say, “One hell of a song.”

Dean nods and taps his finger against Benny’s. Song’s over. The tape needs flipping.

Just like that, the moment ends. They're warriors again, and this is a mission. But that's okay with Benny, too.

There is a faint canine odor and a pervasive Sam smell in the car. Benny closes his eyes, but he can’t shut it out of his mind. “How is baby brother?”

“We're not talking about that. Tell me something about this nest.”

It’s Benny’s battle, but Dean is calling the shots. Benny doesn’t even mind. He doesn’t need this fight. He needs Dean at his side.

Benny tells him about Andrea because she’s part of the story. At the mention of her name, he senses that same green twinge that had coursed through Dean when he'd first heard about Tommy. It passes through his system as quickly as it sparks, but the idea that Dean could be jealous makes Benny play it up.

He tells the truth, basically. Andrea was beautiful. She was a Greek heiress. She had absolved Benny of his sins and been the focus of his attention when he kicked the habit of drinking people all those years ago. For that, she would always hold a special place in his heart. Some part of him is bringing down the Old Man and his nest in her memory.

It's a cakewalk. Benny and Dean against the whole nest ain’t no kind of fair fight. It's been a while since Purgatory, but they still work like twin gears pumping. They battle with a rhythm so natural it feels like choreography.

Benny gets no more than a casual thrill, even when he relieves the old man of his head. But he would brawl forever if it kept Dean at his side.

At the end of it all, Andrea would have killed him. Benny didn’t have it in him to harm her, after everything she'd done for him - even if she wasn’t that person anymore. Even if she would go out and wreak havoc on the world, he couldn’t have been the one to bring her down.

Dean’s blade slices through the air. Her head thuds to the floor. Their eyes lock over her falling corpse. The vindication on Dean’s blood is too thick to just be about ridding the world of another vamp. It’s written all over his face like he’s shouting out, “Forget about her. She’s not your salvation. I am.”

Benny reaches for him, leans in for a kiss to seal this moment in both of their minds. For a second, it seems that Dean moves to meet him. Then his back goes rigid. With a small shake of his head, he turns and walks away.

 

***

 

Dean has every right to remain silent. He watches the dark water, points the boat toward the shore. The sooner he puts Benny Lafitte in his rearview mirror again, the better.

 

***

 

The Thing recedes almost entirely when Benny feels like this: uncertain, vulnerable, undeniably human. He leans over the side of the dinghy as they ride across the channel. He lets the cold water wash the blood from his hands. The blood of his former brothers, the Old Man, the only woman he had ever loved in a way that mattered. He looks longingly at the man at the helm. “Why’d you resurrect me?”

Dean doesn’t move for a moment. Benny knows he’d heard by the variation in Dean’s pulse - the confusion at the question. Dean could have gone on looking forward at the water like Washington crossing the Delaware. He could have pretended that the sound of the motor had drowned out Benny’s voice, but he finally turns around.

“I don’t know what I am.” That’s the best Benny can put it.

There aren’t words to describe the extremes of agony and elation he feels. He’s not human. He knows that. But he’s not cold and cruel and undead either. He’s stuck in the middle, and it’s worse than Purgatory.

Dean doesn’t try to answer. Doesn’t make any promises.

Benny smells Sam before they make landfall. His fingers tap against his leg as a chill slides up his spine. It feels a little like preparing to meet the in-laws, your lover’s wife and the man you’ve been fantasizing about murdering since you first laid eyes on him - all rolled into one.

As they climb out of the boat, Dean makes the introductions. Sam glares at Benny’s outstretched hand. He’s taller than Benny had thought. Well built. Handsome. Angry. And he wants Dean just as bad as it is the other way ‘round. Underneath his angst, Sam’s blood simmers with a strained desire for his brother.

Benny chuckles to himself, wondering if there’s a soul on earth who doesn’t pine for Dean Winchester. “Heard a lot about you, Sam.”

If Sam has heard anything about Benny, it’s nothing good. His hooded stare and tense stance speak volumes despite his silence. Sam makes him the moment their hands meet like Benny knew he would. Sam's hand is warm. Benny's flesh is inhumanly cold. That alone would tip off any hunter worth his salt.

He senses Sam’s shock and aggression even before the hunter’s left hand hovers over his weapon.

There are so many ways this could play out. Benny could roll over and let Sam harm him - play up Dean’s sympathies. Of course, Benny could cut him down in self-defense. In time, Dean would have to forgive him. He could turn tail, but he isn’t fucking going to do that.

Maybe Dean wants them to fight. Maybe he’s waiting to see which of them is stronger, who could have his back better. Maybe all Benny has to do is prove himself.

Benny tries to read Dean, but he's as conflicted as Sam is riled. His blood washes thick with torment as he looks between his brother and his lover - or whatever Benny is to him.

Dean gives his brother some signal Benny doesn’t see, but senses as it passes between them. Slowly, reluctantly, Sam’s dueling hand withdraws. He releases Benny’s grip and stands there with his pulse racing, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“I can see you two have a lot to talk about.” Benny draws in his fangs, claps Dean’s shoulder and leaves the brothers Winchesters to muddle his mind again some other day.


	11. Chapter 11

Benny’s eyes are so fucking blue; Dean can hardly stand to look.

Blue like sapphires, the sky, the sea ... Dean’s no poet. He has this one memory of his mother in a blue dress: making him a sandwich, singing a song he can't remember, ruffling back his hair, lips warm on his forehead. Benny's eyes are blue like that dress. Or maybe Dean has made the dress in his memory blue like Benny's eyes.

It's the kind of thing that could make you crazy if you think about it too long.

Benny's that kind of thing. Dean thinks about him and his eyes and their time together and he feels uneasy, incomplete. That's at least part of the reason two years have passed between them.

Dean has filled that time working himself to the goddamn bone. His life has always been a battle, but lately it’s become a tireless search for something else meaningful, so that it doesn't have to always come down to this fucking vampire. The last time Dean truly felt awake and alive was at Benny’s side. He misses the fight, sure. But if he’s honest with himself, what he misses most is Benny’s weight crushing him, his hands molding, mouth worshipping and feeding. Now, Benny stands there, hardly blinking, breath even, a little smile plays on his lips. Dean wants to kiss it, smack it, punch it away. He wants to shout "Stop it! Stop fucking loving me! Can't you see, I don't deserve it?"

He wants to scream, "God, please don't look at me like that. I'm sorry. I love you. I hate this."

But he doesn't speak. His breath is even, too. The machete hangs in his hand, palm lightly curled around the hilt. It won’t be difficult. His body has performed this action countless times. Just never like this. Dean has been responsible for more death than he can wrap his mind around, but he's never felt this kind of torment in his life.

There's a story in the Bible - Dean's father made them know the book, just like any other lore.  
There's this schmuck named Abraham. God tells him to sacrifice his son, just to prove that he loves God better. Abe ties up his kid, puts him on an altar and raises his blade into the air. God goes, "Gotcha. Just kidding, Abe, you silly bastard. You really think I'd ask you to kill your darling? What kind of a sick fuck do you think I am? Here's a ram. Kill that."

And maybe that's what Dean is waiting for: some kind of miracle. Some other way to save Sam. There has to be some other way. Some sacrificial ram in the bushes. He'd rather fucking go back himself than ask this of Benny.

But that ain't how it works. Dean dies, it's most likely Hell. Benny dies, he goes directly to Purgatory, where he can rescue Sam who went in for Bobby, who's dead and ought to be in Heaven, not Hell. It's a convoluted mess. Benny never even asked for an explanation.

Dean hasn't earned the right to ask him for anything, the way Dean ditched him. After that whole fucked up debacle in Carencro, Dean owes Benny, not the other way around. Benny was just trying to live his fucking life and look after his great-granddaughter. Elizabeth had seemed like a good woman. Benny was just looking after his family and Sam had sicced that psycho Martin Creacher on him. His overzealous little brother had destroyed the one good thing Benny had.

That stunt with Amelia - sending Sam running back to Kermit, Texas - Dean had known it was cold-blooded. What was he supposed to do? Let Sam kill Benny? That wasn’t an eventuality Dean could live with or even let himself imagine. Dean had done what he had to do. Just like he was doing now.

After all that shit went down, Dean had tried to absolve himself by helping to get rid of that bastard Desmond. He hadn’t even asked if there had been more to that story. What good would it do him to know if those two had been fucking? All he knew was that Desmond had wanted to start a family with Benny. That’s what a nest is, isn’t it?

Benny blinks rapidly, blue eyes glassy now. Dean has spent the last two years ignoring the cold hollow in his chest. He has dealt with the things that need taking care of. As always, there is a stinking laundry list of responsibilities: Abbadon, Metatron, Castiel’s vessel’s kid… It never fucking ends.

There has been enough going on to keep Dean’s hands busy. Even in the rare moments between cases, Dean had never called, never tried to find him. What kind of asshole tells a guy to back off and then goes hunting him down? Dean had left him the fuck alone because it was the right thing for everyone.

But now Benny stands here, looking back at him, offering everything, like he always has. His smile widens. He drawls, “What are you, a wimp?”

 

***

 

Benny can’t help but smile. After all this time, Dean is still so beautiful. His features are set hard, blood sings that old familiar anguish. It makes Benny wish he was a painter or a sculptor or that he had any kind of talent at all. Dean ought to be immortalized. Remembered forever.

Benny would love to touch him once more before he goes. That's it. Just a touch. A feather-light brush of fingertips over that warm skin. He'd watch his eyes for that moment of acceptance, that flicker of light. But he won’t make this any harder on Dean than it already is. Keeps his hands at his side, fingers quietly tapping his thighs.

Not a day has passed he hasn't hoped Dean would call. For anything.  
Benny's more than willing.  
He's grateful. Glad to leave this world where he doesn't belong.  
Thankful that the last thing he'll do will be to show Dean his heart.  
Looking into this man's eyes is a good way to die.

 

***

 

Watching is the least respect he can give. Dean has battled in Heaven, Hell and through the doorways to a thousand churches. This is the first time he ever wanted to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness. But he doesn't pray or beg or turn away like he wants to. His blade whistles quietly as it slices through air and skin and bone.

 

***

 

Dean groans as he drags the headless body into the grave, as carefully as possible. Even still, Benny is going to wake up with a few bruises. Not Dean’s fault. “Heavy fuck.”

The head is a hell of a lot easier to get into the hole. He’s not sure if the remains need to be buried for the incantation to work. That’s how it had been last time and Dean doesn't take any chances varying the detail. He had dug a grave to be 100% sure this works. There’s no point putting the dirt back in, since Benny will be resurrected by sunup.

Benny didn’t say so - he hadn’t asked for anything in exchange for this bullshit assignment - but Dean knows the vampire is going to want to fuck him all night. And goddamn it, Dean is going to put his ass on the line. He chuckles at the thought of it and the pun.

He pats his chest pocket. The lube is right where he left it. Hopefully, it'll be enough. They’re going to have to get a room, preferably in a different motel from Sam. He’s not ready for his brother to know everything he and Benny are to each other. It’s just too much too fast. But now Sam knows that Benny is one of the good guys and that’s a step in the right direction.

Maybe, eventually, they can talk about the other thing.

What does he mean, maybe? Benny has given everything. Dean can’t even fucking acknowledge him?

Acknowledge what? What exactly is this thing between him and Benny? If Dean had to put a name on it…

He can’t.

He had never been able to call himself anybody’s boyfriend or partner. How the fuck is he going to come up with a word that describes what Benny is to him? ‘Brother’ just adds a level of weird to the whole thing that Dean refuses to look at.

Dean has already given himself enough of a mind-fuck. He climbs out of the grave and grins down at Benny’s body. “I’ll see your ass in a few hours.”

 

***

 

Dean shields his eyes against the unearthly light behind the trees. He takes a deep breath. What the fuck is he going to say first? ‘Thank you’ ain’t gonna cut it.

He’ll start by checking to be sure Sam is all right. Then, he’ll see to Bobby, that old coot. And Benny? Maybe he’ll just let Benny speak first.

Sam crashes through the brush. He looks good. He looks whole. He’s got this look on his face, though: sorrow and remorse.

Dean nods. “Purgatory, right? Real garden spot, ain’t it? Did you get him out?”

Sam hesitates. “Only Bobby.”

“What?” Dean blinks, but that’s not the right answer. “I mean, that’s fantastic, about Bobby.”

Still, part of him is searching behind Sam, like Benny is going to hop out and go, “Boo.” or “Gotcha.” or something.

“He used himself as bait. I get the feeling he didn’t want to come back.” Oh, and now Sam is psychoanalyzing people he doesn’t even know. “I’m sorry.”

And he’s sorry. Well, that’s great. Sam is sorry, so that makes everything okay.

Sam reaches out to touch his arm. Dean flinches. It’s a minute movement, but enough that Sam gets the hint and backs off. Dean does not want to be touched right now. He couldn’t stand it.

He nods. “You’re probably right.”

 

***

 

Benny fights until Sam and the oldtimer are out. When the Seam between Purgatory and Earth closes, he uncurls his fists and lets them rip him to shreds.

 

***

 

“Mr. Lafitte.” The voice speaks as Benny squints his eyes open. “Would you like to have a seat, sir? We’re ready to begin processing.”

“Processing?” Benny asks, vision adjusting to the unearthly, bright light.

“Your final judgment.” The matter of fact voice comes from a middle aged woman with her hair drawn back so tight it draws up her eyebrows.

Her severe, no nonsense expression shouts librarian. “Please.” She holds out a hand to the empty seat across the desk and refers to the open folder in front of her.

Benny looks down at his pristine, white, three-piece suit. His cream-colored shoes sparkle. There’s a window with black curtains although there don’t appear to be any walls. It’s that freaky room from Dean’s dream. Of course, it is. Benny sits and folds his hands in his lap.

The woman pulls her chained glasses onto her nose. “Benjamin Andrew Lafitte? I have to be honest with you, in millennia, I’ve never seen a case like this.” She lets the glasses drop. “I am very good at my work, but this … who can work like this? Where do you feel you belong?”

“Belong?” Benny isn’t quite sure how to answer that question.

The librarian purses her lips. “Heaven or Hell? There are only two selections.”

“Honestly?” Benny blows out a loud breath. “I reckon I belong in Hell, ma'am. For nearly everything I ever done. I tried to do right, but … that, uh … that stunt with Desmond. The way I used him and I tricked Dean into thinking it was all Desmond’s idea to go about killing those folks. I just wanted to see him, so bad. It was … it was probably the worst thing I ever did. I deserve Hell for that one alone.”

“And that’s just the thing. What you’re showing is remorse. We have a very strict policy about remorse. I’ve just never seen a vampire show it. In fact, I’ve never seen a vampire love. Infatuation, obsession, but this ... You do love, don’t you?” She puts back on the glasses, but peers at him over the rim.

Benny breathes heavily, his face twitches and he nods. “Yes ma’am.”

“Yes. That is quite obvious. We also have a strict policy about love. Do you know what that policy is, Mr. Lafitte?”

Benny shakes his head.

“Love covers over a multitude of sins. I see here that you have certainly committed your multitude.” She frowns at the paperwork.

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny concedes.

“Well, Mr. Lafitte, considering the very unique nature of your case, I have only one recourse.” She slams a stamp onto the center of his file. Everything goes black.


	12. Chapter 12

Benny sits alone at the bar, fingers loosely wrapped around the handle on his pint. He spares a distant smile for the lithe, leather-clad bodies gyrating on the dance floor. Benny doesn’t wear leather. He sure as shit doesn’t dance, but being here is better than spending another night in the silence of his tiny apartment.

None of the men here are shy. Tongues wrestle in mid-air. They stroke and grind; it's practically an orgy out there. Benny hasn't touched or been touched in the three months since he's been back on Earth. This go-round has just been more of the same misfitted isolation as when Dean put him out of his misery. That's not why he's in this place. The bone rattling bass, the funk of these sweaty bodies - it all occupies Benny's mind, the way some people need television in order to sleep. If he weren't here, he'd be sitting with his back to a wall, fangs extended, trying not to smell Dean.

Benny can always smell Dean. Always knows which way to go. He could spend the rest of his strange days chasing that man.

But he stays put. He keeps his nose clean and keeps himself out of Dean’s hair. He often wonders how long the torture of this lifetime will last. Benny is aware of the warm body even before the man settles onto the stool beside him. The stranger leans close, thighs brushing Benny's ass. Benny adjusts in his seat to put some space between them. The guy moves right along with him. This fucker can't take a hint.

Benny is not here for a hookup. He will never have another lover. Benny gave up blood; he can forego sex. It's melodramatic, but the kind of poetry that matches the hollowness in the center of his chest. He's right on the verge of flashing the guy a little tooth when he turns to find a blazing smile and caramel-colored eyes. They hold no candle to the bright green ones in all of Benny’s memories, but the dark blond crew cut, this guy's height and build are a damn close replica. The scent, of course, is completely wrong.

“‘ello, ‘andsome.”

As much as a Manchester accent would be a welcome break from the silence, Benny turns his back and says, "No thanks, buddy."

 

***

 

The noisy and funk of this dive have got nothing on Hell, but it’s moving in that direction. Dean smirks and flaps the beer coaster like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “Amanda.” His eyebrows flick up as he reads the girl’s name from the edge where she scribbled it. Getting a girl's number, getting in her pants has always been a bit like skipping rocks. There's an element of sport. It requires a little skill. It's fun in the moment. Always forgettable.

Sam purses his lips into a familiar, bitchy tight line. "Did you ever think-"

"Nope."

"When was the last time -"

"Shut it."

"I'm just saying." Sam rolls his eyes, apparently on his period again today.

Dean tosses a peanut at him. “Yeah, well, don’t say. Shut up and drink.”

Sam swallows the rest of his commentary along with a swig of his beer.

Dean squints down at the girl’s number. She's easy on his eyes and easy to find, even in this crowd - delivering drinks to a table of grabby frat boys. Dean knows exactly what Sam is 'just saying.' But he doesn't have any idea what he's talking about.

Dean needs the lay. He needs a few hours when it's not about the kill. A chance to let his mind unwind, give his body a fix, so that maybe, he won't dream about Benny tonight. Over is over. Dead is dead. But, then, there was their mom: impossible, yet here. Every time someone from their past pops up, Dean has to shove down that little swell of hope. He has to remind himself that hope is wasted energy. The only thing worse than hope is love.

Dean tosses the coaster onto the table. “Going to the can.”

 

***

 

Over the last month, Benny has been so close, so many times, to leaping out of the shadows. To taking Dean. Having him just once more. Ever since he's been free, the Thing in him has craved it like candy, like cocaine. So, Benny has split the difference. He's stayed hidden, watching. Wanting. Waiting, until he couldn't control the urge any longer.

Dean talks up the girl. The Thing growls. Benny chuckles at the flawless blend of goofy and cool that just work for Dean. He cringes when Dean drops the most atrocious line Benny has ever heard. The girl blushes and smiles. Of course, she does. Dean is sunlight and thunder.  
Sam is in the corner, quietly smoldering. Benny knows that feeling, too.

Both of the boys’ faces are more lined and road-weary than they were just two years ago. Benny can only imagine what they’ve seen in that time. He knows the hell he’s been through: Lady Bevell - torture and tea. Benny's got the welts on his back and burn scars on his feet to prove where he's been. But it wasn't in vain. The things that psycho bitch let slip before Benny broke free from the British Men of Letters are the reason he's here now.

Those sadistic assholes know an ancient cure for vampirism. A simple incantation, spoken aloud: _est enim vita tua amica mea_ \- Your life, my love, for mine. Then, all Benny needs to do is drain every last drop of blood from his dearest love. Voila. Full-blooded human again. It makes perfect sense. The life essence of the person who gives Benny reason to live will cleanse his body. Dean could purify his soul.

Benny stands in the shadow and watches this man: his redemption, his salvation. He tilts back his head slightly to draw in a deep breath of the blood that has always made him whole. Benny's need for Dean has always bordered on religion. It surpasses that now, in its purity and truth.

Benny has been following him for one reason: to be sure that Dean is thriving without him. He'll have this girl tonight. He'll have his brother, Dean's own greatest love, forever.

Benny has another deep breath as he drains the vial that will deliver him where he belongs. Heaven’s got a policy on this sort of thing. The girl writes something on a beer coaster. A small smile blossoms on Benny's face as his fingers turn brittle, grey and crumble to dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! And I love hearing your impressions.
> 
> The idea for this came before the 11th season even began. When Lady Bevell mentioned Benny, I figured he had been tortured into giving up Dean's name.  
> Before the BMOL became a major plot point for the show in season 12, there was an entirely different last chapter for this fic. In that version, Benny is captive at the B-MOL HQ. Mary is also there, being studied for her undead qualities. The boys go in to rescue her and find Benny, as well.
> 
> One of the challenges to myself was to keep this canon compliant. Hence this revised ending that won’t deviate from whatever the showmakers choose to do - unless of course they bring Benny back, which … would be amazing!!!


	13. EPILOGUE

The glass clicks against the table as the barkeep delivers a drink Benny didn't order: filled to the brim with thick liquid, burgundy and warm beneath his palm. He looks around, unsure how he got here or even where here is.

"It's fresh." The man in the black suit appears from nowhere as if Benny had conjured him by breathing. “Have a seat, Benjamin.”

Benny knows the man by reputation although they’ve never met. “I'd rather stand,” he says to offend.

He rises to his feet, chair scraping the dirt floor. Unperturbed, his host swirls the ice in his tumbler and has a sip.

The bar is familiar, or something about it is. The old-wood scent of the rough-hewn floors, his voice rebounding off the walls and booming back to his ears.

"What do you want?" Before he was whisked here, Benny had been quietly rotting in Hell - his body literally decomposing and regenerating in a nauseating loop.

Present company is not an improvement of circumstances.

“It seems I've bitten off more than I'll be able to swallow. Numbered days and all that." The King of Hell downs the rest of his drink and raises sad, brown eyes. “I need a job done, for which you are uniquely qualified.”

“Why would I do anything for you?”

“Why, indeed.” The conversation seems to bore and depress Crowley further. He sighs and says, “When Lucifer takes the throne --”

“So, this is a concession speech?”

“Change is inevitable, Benjamin.”

“When he takes the throne, you're dead.” That fact is even more inevitable than change.

“Ya think?” Crowley rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair.

“What's the job?”

“I need you to watch over Dean Winchester.”

Silence is the only fitting response and Benny gives it completely.

“No answer?”

“There were whispers, but I never believed it.” Benny doesn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the beings: dark, celestial and mortal that Dean has beguiled.

What is it about that man?

It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic. Love and adoration all around and the only soul he truly desires is his god-damned brother.

Crowley smirks. “I’m no more in love with Dean Winchester than I was with my uncle’s sorrel mare. I never loved any woman more and yet, never dreamed of taking Clover to bed. He's a pain in my ass, but I’d rather he live. Call me sentimental.”

“I see.”

“And there isn’t a single one of my idiot lackeys I could ask and, as I said, uniquely suited.” He raises his magically refilled glass to salute Benny

who wipes a clammy palm over his mouth. “Would I be a vamp?”

“Is that a request?”

“Make me mortal.”

“How are you to track him as a mortal?”

“I can track him.”

“Is that a yes?”

The moment Benny's spit hits the floor, he recognizes the place as the old church he'd danced in as a kid. He'd brought Dean here, in a dream. Here, he'd held hands with Tommy, behind a big, old, dog-eared Bible with his heart racing towards Judgment Day. He’d crawled with that boy under the pews before either of them knew what a pecker was.

Tommy is long gone and in Heaven, where he belongs. Dean is still running around up there, looking for trouble and, no doubt, finding it. There was never any question; only the formality of the agreement. “Yeah. I'll do it.”

Crowley nods as if he knew as much. “The moment I expire, you'll be released.”

Benny nods, and obliges the demon his kiss.

 

=== THE END ===

(for now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as much a tribute to our good man, Crowley, as a resurrection fic.  
> Hope you enjoyed this little tag. I had a great time writing this tale and couldn't just leave Benny dead, since everyone else is making comebacks :)


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